Death, Lies, and Videotape
by Eve215
Summary: Jane's past catches up to him as one of the CBI team gets horrible news.
1. The Bad Omen

Death, Lies, and Videotape

Chapter 1: The Bad Omen

Rain had been pouring for over five hours outside the CBI headquarters. The rare event had been entertaining, even fun, at the beginning. Entertaining because despite his manly exterior, Wayne Rigsby hated rain. Hated everything about it. That was one reason the man loved 'sunny' California. So when it rained, Rigsby was crabby... and when Rigsby was crabby, the team pounced on it which was why the rainy morning had been fun. With an atypically small caseload, the CBI team could take time to properly tease him.

After a while, however, aggrivating Rigsby about how rain was not a precurser of gloom and doom and playfully reassuring him that an umbrella would save him horrible hair embarrassment, the fun wore off. Teresa Lisbon retreated to her office to finish up some loose paperwork before lunch which was being retrieved by Rigsby and Cho, who had sarcastically offered to get the brave the deadly down pour to get the car and pull it as close to the building as he could so Rigsby wouldn't have to mess up his 'do'. Laughing devilishly, Rigsby had accepted his offer, just to show his friend not to mess with him.

That left Grace Van Pelt and Patrick Jane the only two of the team left in the office space. Earlier in the day, Jane had settled down in his usual spot on the brown leather couch pretending to sleep, but grinning broadly every time one of the team ragged on Rigsby's phobia. He didn't think he would ever have any true friends again, but his co-workers were definitely the closest people he had now. He admired each in their own way. Lisbon for being so strong and putting up with him. Not an easy thing to do. He didn't want it to be. Rigsby for just being the goofy big brother type-- a big brother who would beat someone up for a friend if needed. Cho for just being-- Cho. And Van Pelt for her beliefs, even if he couldn't believe them himself, and being there for him. She always seemed genuinely happy to see him, sometimes he used that for good, and sometimes for a little mischief. But ultimately, it was her smile and honesty that he admired about her. That smile hadn't been around much the past day or two. He didn't know why, but he assumed it was an anniversary of some sad event in her life. Anniversaries had their own way of causing pain. She'd taken her jabs at Rigsby, but not with the same glee as the others. She was trying to hide her pain, but she couldn't hit it from him.

"Grace Van Pelt?"

Patrick stirred slightly when he heard the unfamiliar voice, but kept his eyes closed and his position on the couch steady. He could tell the voice came from a man, probably mid 30s, cop, and from his tone, he had to be bringing bad news for Grace.

"Yes." She replied. "Can I help you?" In front of her stood two men in slacks, button down shirts and ties. On their belts were police badges. On their faces, somber looks. Her breath caught in her throat. Being a cop herself, she knew what this probably meant. One of the men, tall, blond hair with a slight scar on the left side of his face, carried a box with a few items in it. Immediately, Grace recognized them as her sister's.

"Ma'am. My name is Jason Copola. This is my partner Sam Dixon." The man speaking, Jason, was taller than the one holding the box. He had dark hair, dark eyes. Grace watched his eyes scan the room, fix Jane, hesitate, then back to her. "Is there any place we can speak in private?"

"This way." she replied as she stood and led the men to one of the interrogation rooms.

Twenty minutes later, Van Pelt slowly walked back to her desk, placed the box on the floor, sat in her chair, and tightly gripped the two pieces of paper in her hands. One was a blue flier. The other a white note. She realized Jane was sitting on the edge of her desk inches from her, curiosity getting the better of him, but she didn't care. Her limbs felt numb, her skin cold, and her throat dry, threatening to close. She was lucid enough to recognize that she was going into shock, but too far gone to care.

"Van Pelt. Look at me."

She heard him. Heard the concern, the worry, but she didn't do as he said. How could see look at _him_? Now? None of it made any sense.

"Look at me." Jane ordered more firmly this time. Despite herself, she obeyed. What Patrick saw in her eyes froze him. Sadness. Loss. Confusion. Anger.... Anger at him. Something else. Something he couldn't place.

No-- he could place it. He knew exactly what it was, but he just didn't want too. He felt his stomach tighten.

"Van Pelt, We've got to move. I just got a call about an apparent suicide, but--" Lisbon, coming out of her office, stopped mid-sentence when she saw the scene in front of her. Jane, sitting one leg on Van Pelt's desk. His gray trousers matching his vest. His white shirt rolled to his elbows and buttons opened at the neck. Van Pelt's face, she could swear, was almost the color of Jane's shirt. "Ok. What's going on?" She asked. She knew Jane could be a pain in the ass, but had no idea what he could have done to upset Van Pelt so.

"We're back and baring pizza." Rigsby announced, walking in carrying 3 large pizza boxes.

"And look--" Cho started in after him carrying a two liter drink. "Rigsby didn't melt." His rare smile faded, however, when he saw Jane, Van Pelt, and Lisbon. "What's going on?"

"That's what I'd like to know." Lisbon responded. "Jane, what did you do to her?"

"I'm not sure." He replied, uneasy with the feeling of not knowing. He wasn't used to it. "Grace?"

With all eyes on her, Grace felt the walls closing in. She couldn't take anymore. Didn't want to be there. Quickly, she stood, clutched the papers tighter in her hand, and turned to her boss. "I'm sorry. I have to go."

When she turned to leave, she nearly ran into Jane blocking her way. "We can help you, Grace." He assured. "Just stay calm and--"

Hearing his words, Grace's eyes flashed up to him. The fury conveyed matched her fiery hair. "Don't you dare pull your mind trick BS on me."

"I'm not--"

"She killed herself!" She cried, shoving the blue paper into Patrick's chest, pushing him out of the way, and ran out of the shrinking room holding the white paper tightly to her chest.

Patrick uncrinkled the paper and instantly recognized it.

_Do you have questions?_

_He has answers._

_His rare gift isn't wasted... he's using it for you._

_Get all of your questions answered._

_Patrick Jane. Psychic._

_March 14, 2003_

_Tiburon Civic Center_

_Be there for his first televised taping! It will blow you away._

And next to a black and white picture of a younger, smiling Patrick Jane were the words written in blue ink: _He really did it! He talked to her!! She doesn't blame me. Not my fault._

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A/N: Ok, a few things. 1. Hi. :) 2. I have most of this story written out so I promise it will make some sort of sense... in some way LOL. 3. This is my first 'crime' fic. We'll see how it goes. 4. I don't know my cities in California. I don't know where Patrick's first taping was, and it's not 'really' important to the story. I tried to look things up, but details about the man's past are hard to come by LOL... SO I did take some liberties. I hope it's ok. This story doesn't really have a 'ship', but mainly deals with friendships among the group. I love them all. 5. This is unbeta'd. My poor beta... I started writing Twilight fiction, then OC fiction... so my beta's been around with me LOL. I'm not sure how she feels about The Mentalist, but I'm not going to ask her to beta... unless she wants. All mistakes are my own. Be gentle. 6. I hope you like this story.

Disclaimer: I don't own any of these characters. I wish I did.


	2. The Cause of Death

_A/N: Thanks for the reviews for the first chapter. I forgot to mention how much they mean :) I have about 4 chapters finished so I *should* be able to update regularily... until I run out LOL. I hope you like it. Also, you may have to have patience with this. I know it raises some questions, but things aren't always as they appear. Again, I hope I don't disappoint._

_Disclaimer: I don't own these people... although it IS fun to have Patrick Jane do my bidding LOL_

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Chapter 2: Cause of Death

To Patrick, it seemed as though the world stood still for a minute. Holding in his hands a memento from his past, things seemed surreal. He had figured out what had happened to Van Pelt long before the others. His previously tight stomach had been right. Someone Grace loved had killed themselves or appeared to have killed themselves and obviously he had something to do with it. Nobody likes the past coming back to bite them on the ass. It's even worse when you had been a liar, a cheat, and a fraud.

"Rigsby, go after her." Lisbon ordered.

"On it." he said heading out the door.

"Cho. Get Martin and check out this address. There is a suspicious suicide of a woman named Caitlyn Robb. Local police want our help with it."

"With a suicide?" Cho asked surprised.

"_Suspicious_ suicide." Lisbon corrected. "I don't have any details. Call me when you know for sure."

"Yes, Ma'am." Cho answered, taking the address from his boss and heading out to find Martin.

With that, she turned her attention to the only person left. "You. My office. Now."

When the door shut behind them, Teresa circled the desk. "Care to tell me what that was all about?"

Jane handed her the flier. His own throat beginning to tighten, but his exterior remained calm. Lisbon took it, noted that Jane's hand was shaking slightly, and was immediately drawn to the smiling blond man at the center right of the page. It completely looked like Jane; same blond hair except it was slicked back, same trademark smile. But it couldn't have looked different. The man on the flier had a certain cockiness about him. A certain sparkle in his eye. The man who stood in her office had a cockiness to him, sure. But anyone could tell that it wasn't the same. And while the flesh and blood Jane still had a twinkle in his eye, sometimes Lisbon wondered if it was forced at times so everyone would think that he was OK.

Lisbon read the words on the flier, sighed, and sat down. "Did she say who this belonged too?"

Jane shook his head, his hands clasped behind his back. "No, she didn't say much of anything."

"And do you remember this place? This--" She couldn't find the right word.

"Performance? Yes." he answered, staring blindly out of the window with the interior view. He didn't see the office, however. He saw the civic center all fixed up for his appearance. Ten rows of padded folding chairs were brought in along with TV cameras and monitors. The appearance was his first scheduled to air. Two days before he'd been on the Today show 'explaining' (bragging really) about how he was helping the police find Red John. There had been so much interest in his 'gift' that he had been given money to tape one of his shows. Money he gladly took, even though his wife had voiced serious reservations about it.

Jane remembered the show, but not the people he'd 'helped'. Couldn't even see their faces. Two months later, Red John had listened to enough and killed his family. Had his wife had lived, she would have said, "I told you so." She always did now when he talked to her.

He briefly explained the taping to Lisbon giving her the basic, bare bone facts. He didn't mention how proud he'd been. Pride comes before the fall after all. How excited he'd been to be recognized by a local and now possibly national audience. Lisbon could tell though. He wasn't always as camouflaged as he thought. She asked no questions. Instead just listened.

When he stopped talking, she didn't start. She actually had no idea what to say. They had only talked about his past briefly in spurts throughout their time together. She had figured pasts were like noses. Everyone had one. She didn't have the desire or want to hear all about his past, but knew that more than likely most of it would come out now.

"I've always been afraid something like this would happen." he confided. That was as much insight into himself as he let out.

"We don't know that this had anything to do with you."

He turned to look her, a forced smile on his tired face. "Don't lie to me. We know it does. And Grace knows too." He turned back to the window, smile fading.

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Wayne Rigsby found Grace sitting on the side steps to the station barely under the awning. Now that he'd found her. He didn't know what to do with her. He loosened his tie and sad down. The rain drummed a thunderous melody over them.

Grace didn't speak at first so neither did he. Her red hair had began falling from the bun at the nape of her neck all around her head in loose tendrils. He fought the overwhelming urge to place a few back behind her ear.... like that would help.

"My sister," she began, not really knowing why. She figured they would all found out anyway. No sense hiding. "Faith. She was 10 years older than me."

"That's a long time."

She smiled. "Yeah. My parents never really wanted another after her. She was the perfect one and why mess with perfection? She never really liked me that much. I kinda took away her baby roll." she laughed at the memories from when they were kids and Faith would lock her out of her room because 'babies didn't go into teenager's rooms'. "She killed herself this morning."

"I'm so sorry. Do they know why?"

Van Pelt gripped the white note tighter in her hand. "They don't, but I have a pretty good idea."

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"Lisbon." Teresa answered her desk phone. Her conversation with the consultant had ended and he was just on his way out. The ringing phone stopped him.

"Boss. Cho. I'm at the scene of the suicide. I know why we were called in."

"Care to share?"

"The victim had two pieces of paper around her."

"Let me guess." her eyes cutting to Jane, who already had suspicions as to what it was. "One was a blue flier with one of Jane's appearances on it."

"Exactly."

"And the other?"

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Van Pelt carefully unraveled the paper she'd so tightly clung to and handed it to her friend. "Apparently, locals didn't realize what they had here. Didn't know it had any significance. I'll turn it in for evidence, if there is even a case." She said, now completely numb by the situation.

Rigsby took the paper and began to read:

_Ms. Kingston,_

_You know he was a fake._

_You know he was a liar._

_You know it was your fault your daughter died._

_You know the only way to find out how much she hates you is to ask her yourself._

_Are you even brave enough to do it?_

_Or will you live like a coward while you daughter rots in her grave._

_Parents protect their kids. You failed yours. What give you the right to live?_

_Ask her yourself what she really thinks of you. Do what the fake couldn't._

_The only truthful person you know._

Underneath there was no signature. Only a crudely drawn smiling face drawn in red ink.

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"Boss," Cho went on. "There was a letter here to the victim. There was no name, just a red smiling face. Davis police think it could possibly be from Red John."

"I'll be right there." Lisbon replied, hanging up the phone. She ordered Jane to stay put as she headed for the crime scene. With nothing more to do, the consultant sat behind Lisbon's desk, rearranged the inside of her desk drawers, and tried to remember every detail of the night of March 14, 2003.

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"No way." Rigsby gulped. "There's no way. This doesn't even make sense."

"Maybe not. But from the way it _looks_, it seems that Red John is coming after our families next."


	3. The Means to an End

_A/N: I want to thank House Calls for calling me out on a oops I posted in the previous chapter. If anyone else sees anything, please let me know. I've never written for an ongoing series and it has it's advantages and disadvantages. Let me know what you think. Also, as with the others, this hasn't been beta'd. Just me an spell check. Lots of spell check LOL_

_Disclaimer: You know the drill....._

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Chapter 3: The Means to an End

A few hours later, the rain mercifully began to slack off. The team had assembled in Lisbon's office to see what evidence, if any, connected the two apparent suicides. Among the group, Van Pelt sat, the metaphorical elephant in the room. Lisbon had called her from the Caitlyn Robb crime scene to send her home, but she pleaded to stay, saying it would just drive her mad sitting at home all alone. Waiting. The police had already contacted her parents anyway. There was nothing more she could to do, but find the SOB who caused her sister's suicide.

Kimball Cho had only recently came back from the possible crime scene with Lisbon. He sat with his pad and paper leaning against Lisbon's desk. Wayne Rigsby hadn't left Grace's side since he'd found her outside. Now, he sat not to close, not to far from her giving her space if she needed it and closeness if she didn't. He wasn't stupid. He knew his limits and his limits were he had no idea what to do for her. The blonde haired consultant stayed in the back of the room close to the door. He leaned on the door frame, observing the situation, seeing if he could see clues the other missed, not really feeling like part of the group at the moment. Not that he'd ever voice it or dwell on it. They loved Grace. Grace had been hurt. He was part of that hurt. He'd be angry with him too. Things were what they were. He couldn't change them.

Of all the members assembled, Teresa Lisbon had the most difficult task ahead. She had to play peacemaker if things got too emotional and referee if things went that far. She also had to consider the feelings of her team members. A hard task indeed with the room assembled and with the specific situation facing them. If she tried to be sympathetic to Van Pelt, she risked hurting and alienating Jane-- not likely, but common courtesy and manners kept the thought in her mind. If she tried to tell Jane it wasn't his fault, she risked angering Van Pelt who hadn't really let her feelings surface since throwing the flier at Jane earlier. In fact, she hadn't spoken to anyone since she'd re-entered the office, save Lisbon's phone call.

Lisbon finished up the call from her boss, hung up, and spoke to her team. "Ok, listen. We are going to treat this like any other case. Minilli isn't happy about this. He says it's too personal and we are to close to it, but I managed to work out a deal. He has given us 48 hours to see if there is an actual connection between these deaths and Red John. Face it, if not for Red John letters--"

"Possible Red John letters." Jane corrected.

Lisbon stared at him until he motioned for her to continue. The wheels in his head were already turning, and she was fairly certain she wouldn't like the result. "Anyway, the local police are wanting to close these deaths as suicides."

"How did the victims die?" Rigsby asked, then thought better of it. He cut his eyes to Van Pelt, but didn't get any response back from her. Grace just sat there like a stone figure cut out of marble, staring straight ahead. Like a carved angel on top of a grave.

"Police believe both to be drug overdoses." Lisbon replied. _Treat this like every other case. _she mentally reminded herself.

"Any idea what drug?" Cho asked, jotting things down on his pad. He could deal with facts, emotions not so much. He felt better in the realm of the factual.

"Tox screens haven't came back yet. I put a rush on them to be back by the 48 hour mark. We don't have a lot of time." Lisbon answered. "Like I said, the only reason we have the two extra days is to see if we can connect these deaths with Red John."

"We have the letters." Van Pelt stated, breaking her silence. Her throat hurt from the crying and also from the knot she feared had permanently formed there.

"_Possible_ Red John letters." Jane said again, causing him to garner looks from everyone but Grace, some curious, some down right evil.

"We all know Red John can write letters. You still have one, don't you?" Grace said bitterly, uncharacteristically hoping the jab brought back memories of his family's death so he could relive the pain she was feeling. She was instantly sorry she said it.

"Van Pelt, that's enough." Lisbon admonished.

"No it's OK." Patrick said gently. He didn't blame her for trying to hurt him. He was, at least partially, to blame after all. "But he didn't write _these_ letters."

"You keep saying that." Teresa leaned back in her chair and rubbed her eyes.

"Because it's true."

"And you know that how?" Grace said, finally turning to face him. Her eyes were bloodshot and her nose bright red from the time spent crying in front of Rigsby. "Because they weren't written to _you_? Because it was someone else's family affected?" She didn't like where this bitterness was coming from.

The observer knew he had two options. He could either try to calm Grace down by making fake excuses for himself (which would be a lie) or telling her it would be ok (which would also be a lie. It wouldn't ever be ok again.). Or option two: just stay within the facts of the case. He chose the latter. "Look. We all know this isn't Red John's MO. He doesn't send letters telling his victims to kill themselves. It doesn't fit."

"He would have done it himself and written letters to family members." Cho stated what he had already been thinking.

"Precisely. Your sister wouldn't have gotten the letter, Grace. You would. So, either Red John has totally changed his pattern which I'm not convinced he has _or_ we have someone wanting us to think he has."

"What did Ms. Robb and Ms. Kingston--"

"Faith." Van Pelt cut Lisbon off without meaning to. It was the part of the investigation she hated, calling victims by their 'proper' names. These people had lives, families, heartache and pain. She was her sister and she was damn well more than 'Ms. Kingston'. "Her name was Faith."

"Ok," Lisbon went on, trying her best to walk that fine line. "Faith. What did the two have in common?"

"Both were females. Faith was in her early forties. Ms. Robb, Caitlyn, was in her mid thirties. Both apparently died of drug overdoses, and from the fliers at the crime scenes, it appears that both attended Jane's first television taping." Cho listed off the facts as he had them on his notepad.

"I don't remember them." Jane admitted, his jaw clinching slightly. The one chink in his poker face.

"Why would you?" Grace scoffed. "They were just pawns to your joke-- just means to your end."

"They weren't jokes." Jane said quickly, raising himself from his leaning position. For some reason he felt like defending the indefensible actions of his past. He then thought better of it. "They weren't jokes and they weren't--" he wanted to add that they weren't pawns either, but how could he deny it? "I took advantage of them, yes, but--"

"People." Teressa cut in. "I know we are all emotional right now. But emotions won't help us figure this out. We have to focus. If we can't, Minilli will give it to another team. We don't have a lot of time."

Silence reigned for a few moments. The tension in the room could be cut with a knife. None of them were used to it. Normally, despite being aggravated slightly by their consultant, they worked like a well-oiled machine. Not on this case, however.

It was Cho who finally broke the tension. "I think we should watch the tape of Jane's show, take down names of all people involved, and people he helped. Catalogue names of people in the audience if we can, and talk to everyone we can find who was there that night. See if anyone else at the taping has gotten a letter or committed suicide in the past few days in California or elsewhere."

"Already on it." his boss told him. "The tape should be here first thing in the morning. It's late. We'll take the night off, go home to collect ourselves, and meet back here tomorrow to watch it." As she spoke, her eyes automatically went to Jane and his to hers. He shifted back against the wall and lowered his eyes.

He never wanted the people he cared about, the people who were almost like friends, to see that tape. He wasn't even sure he was mentally ready to see it... the tape that lead to the death of his family. But he knew it was necessary. He wasn't convinced Caitlyn Robb or Faith Kingston had committed suicide, and he was certain that those letters weren't from Red John. However, he also knew that Red John hated being toyed with. Hated being copied. He knew that these 'suicides' could bring the killer out into the open which would give him his opportunity for revenge.

He'd go home. He'd change clothes. He'd shave. He'd come back. He'd deal with it. It was how he'd lived his life for the past five years. It's how he'd live his life until he died.

Van Pelt wasn't looking forward to watching her sister on a faux-psychic television show. She'd never had any idea Faith had even spoken to Jane. She'd even talked to her sister a few times (the few times they'd actually spoken in since her niece's death) about Jane working at the bureau and her sister had said nothing. Grace wasn't convinced that she or Caitlyn Robb had killed themselves. Sure, Faith's death occurred exactly seven years since the day her daughter had drowned. That was enough to guilt anyone into taking their own life. And the letter to top it off... but still...

Hannah had been Grace's only niece, and she had lavished attention on her. She was only five years old and a complete hand full. She had long curly blond hair and big blue eyes. She was always smiling. If she hadn't of drowned, she would have turned 13 in just a few days. After Hannah died, Grace been one of the ones who had blamed Faith. How hard was it to lock a stupid gate? She probably wasn't as sympathetic as she could have been... as kind as she should have been. She'd worked everyday since her massive blow up with Faith to be a better person. To be kind. To be the person who doesn't let things get to her because Hannah's death sure had. The death caused a rip between the sisters as it had between Faith and her husband.

Red John might not have killed her sister, Jane was probably right about that. But she knew that once he got wind that he was 'involved' he'd be livid. Whoever had used his name in 'vain' would be sorry. Red John would take care of him. Jane would use the opportunity to try to kill Red John.... and she would try to stop Jane before Red John had done his dirty work on whoever had a hand in her sister's death. Patrick could have his revenge, but she sure as hell would have hers too.

She'd go home. She'd change clothes. She'd call her parents. She'd come back. She'd deal with it. It was how she would have to live her life from now on.

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	4. The Tape

A/N: It's 12 am, and this isn't betaed LOL. All mistakes are mine. I won't be home tomorrow, and I wanted to get this chapter up. Hope it answers some questions and that you like it :)

Disclaimer: I own nothing.....

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Chapter 4: The Tape

The next day....

_"The next person. Next person please."_

_"Mr. Jane, this is Sarah Manning."_

_"Sarah, what is troubling you? I'm here to help."_

_"My grandfather died about six months ago--"_

_"--And you want to know if he died in any pain."_

_"He was home alone."_

_A pause. _

_"Your grandfather said he was sleeping when he passed on. He says he's ok and that he felt no pain. In fact, he fells more free now than he has in years. Where he is, there is no more pain"_

"Sarah Manning was a plant." Patrick Jane explained to the assembled team. The day was different. The clothes were different. The mind frame was even different. Everyone had ordered their emotions to the back of their minds. Facts and evidence where what they were after. Only 24 hours to go until the investigation was over on way or the other.

"A plant?" Cho asked, jotting things down on his legal pad. Of the entire team, he'd probably slept the most the night before. A whopping three hours combined. "Like an actress?"

"Basically yes." Jane said as he sat on his couch watching along with everyone else. On this day, he wore black pants, black vest, and white shirt. It was a stark contrast to the 'Psychic Patrick Jane' on the television in his high priced suit and expensive jewelry, most of it gifts from wealthy clients. "I always had a few paid people scattered in the audience. The first person I spoke to in every show was always a plant. His or her job was to relax the audience. Show that I really was psychic." He paused, a hint of a smile crossing his face. It had seemed so simple then. So clean and easy. If only he'd paid attention....

"And the other plants?" Cho prodded.

"The others where scattered around in the audience. If the participants stopped asking questions or I felt I needed a break, I would call on one of them. You have no idea how much it mentally wears on your scamming a bunch of people--- sorry." he added when Grace shot him a dirty look.

For her part, Grace looked like the epitome of professionalism. Her hair was down in soft waves. She wore a black blazer, emerald green shirt, and black slacks. She'd done as she set out to do. Rigsby had offered to spend the night at her house.. on the couch.. in case she needed anything. She'd declined, just wanting to be alone. She had called her parents who where so shaken by her sister's death that she couldn't bear talking long. She'd taken a shower. And went to bed. By the time the third infomercial came on showing her the greatness of the Shamwow, she gave up on sleeping and got up to just do... something. When morning finally rolled around, she was up and ready to go. Thankfully, she was still in the stage of grief called shock. She wouldn't have to feel anything watching her sister on Jane's show... at least she hoped she wouldn't.

"Who's the man in the black suit walking around with the microphone?" Teresa Lisbon asked, pushing pause on the VCR.

"That was Simon James. He was an actor friend of mine. A very smart man. I paid him well. He didn't ask questions."

"He didn't know?" Lisbon asked surprised.

"Of course he knew." Jane replied the slightest bit annoyed. "He was just smart enough not to ask any details or dwell on it. That was the part he had to play."

"Sounds so simple." Van Pelt said quietly, eyes not moving from the tv.

"It was." So simple.

"Couldn't we have sprung for the DVD?" asked Rigsby, who sat a few feet away from Van Pelt with a large tub of popcorn in his lap. He knew it wasn't appropriate, but he knew himself to well. If he didn't have anything in his hands, he risked jumping up and clobbering Jane at any given moment. If he didn't have anything in his mouth, he risked saying out loud all of the "Dude, what were you thinking with that suit?" jokes he was storing up. He knew it was better to keep his bases covered.

"Sorry," Lisbon answered. "Best I could do on short notice." She reached over and pushed play.

--

_"Who's next?"_

_"Debbie Mosely." The man in the black suit replied. _

_"Ms. Mosely, how can I help you?"_

_--_

"She wouldn't have gotten a letter." Jane said, sitting up on the edge of his brown couch.

Cho asked why.

"Because, she wanted to know about some test she'd taken for her teacher's license. It wasn't life or death."

"Did she get it?" Rigsby asked, shoving a pile of popcorn in his mouth.

Jane looked at him incrediously. "How should I know?"

Rigsby shrugged innocently and turned back to the television, mouth-filling popcorn in hand.

"Guys, look." Cho said, pointing to the TV.

--

_"Mr. Jane. This is Caitlyn Robb." Simon James announced before handing the microphone to the short, blonde woman._

_"Mrs. Robb. What's troubling you?"_

_Caitlyn Robb stared hopefully at the psychic. "Mr. Jane. I have a question for you. My husband died a few months ago. He was in a car accident. The doctors said he was in a coma, but when he died... He had a single tear fall down his face. Was he in pain? Did he know I was there? What did that mean?"_

_"Very good questions, my dear." The psychic's eyes shut and his head rolled dramatically. "Ms. Robb, your husband is here. I can communicate with him. He says that he was crying because where he was going was so beautiful. He said for you not to worry about him and that he loves you very much." He opened his eyes back to her, a strange look in them.. a knowing look. "But you already knew that, didn't you, Mrs. Robb. Tell me, what is the real reason you're here? It has nothing to do with why he was crying."_

_The woman broke down and began to sob. The psychic walked to her and took her hand, rubbing gently causing her heart rate to ease, calming her. "Something happened before he died. That same day in fact."_

_"Yes." Her pulse quickened under his fingers._

_"Something very painful."_

_"Yes." Pulse quicker this time. He rubbed the spot just above her thumb a little harder now, she needed to calm herself but still be riveting television. He know had all of the information he needed._

_"You accused him of having an affair."_

_Her eyes darted to his, but she couldn't deny it. _

_"He wasn't." The psychic assured. "The woman was just a friend. Nothing more. He didn't love her. Had no interest in her. He was really crying when he died because he wanted to tell you that, but couldn't because he wasn't able. But you know that now, don't you? You know it to be true."_

_"Yes." Caitlyn replied, tears dripping from her cheeks. "I believe you."_

_--_

"That was so cruel." Van Pelt said what the others were thinking, even Lisbon who would never voice it.

"So, that was our first victim." said Cho. "You really did a number on her." he said to Jane.

"Yeah, thanks, Cho. I told you this wouldn't be pretty."

"You weren't lying about that." Rigsby agreed, running out of popcorn.

"Oh God." Van Pelt's heart felt like lead. "That's my sister."

The woman on the television had long hair like Grace's only it was dark brown. Her features were completely different from Van Pelt's, however. She had a short nose that turned up a bit at the end. Her eyes were blue and had a sadness in them. She stood from her chair as the man with the microphone, Simon, walked up to her. She was visibly nervous. Her hands clinched tightly in front of her.

_"This is Faith Kingston, Mr. Jane."_

_The psychic smiled warmly. "Faith. What can I do for you this evening?"_

_The woman sighed, obviously trying to compose herself before she began. "My daughter, Hannah, drowned a few months ago, out back in our swimming pool. She was only five." Faith's voice broke. She began wringing her hands tightly.... a sign of nervousness and guilt concluded the 'psychic'. He knew she would be an easy read._

_"And you want to know if she's ok. If she suffered. If you were to blame for her death." The psychic stated. There was no questioning in his tone._

_"Yes, sir." she answered politely. _

_"Faith, there is no need to be so formal. Come down her please."_

_She did as she was told. Once she was in front of him, he gently took her hands in his. His first impression was that they were slick from sweat, again nervousness and guilt. But the guilt of a mother isn't true guilt... you didn't have to be psychic to know that. _

_He closed his eyes and lightly rubbed the woman's hands. "You have a lot of guilt about your daughter's death."_

_"I do."_

_"You blame yourself."_

_"Yes."_

_"You shouldn't. You didn't know she had snuck out that day. You did everything you could." _

_When she nodded in confirmation.. that she _had_ done everything she could, he knew how to handle this. He knew what was truth. "You locked the gate to the pool like a good mother. You didn't know that she would find a way to climb through the bars. It wasn't your fault. And your daughter knows it."_

_Hearing that, Faith jerked her hands back, startling the psychic. Television cameras zoomed in on both of their faces. "I'm her mother. I'm supposed to protect her. I'm supposed to know. Of course it's my fault."_

_"Look at me. You may think that. You may even feel that, but your daughter doesn't."_

_"Do you have children, Mr. Jane?"_

_Her question threw him off guard. "Yes." he answered finally, not liking where this was going and cursing the pre-screeners for letting this obviously guilt ridden woman in. She should be seeking psychiatric help, not a psychic... and not a psychic who refused to look like a fool on national television. _

_"A girl?" Faith asked._

_"We are talking about you.."_

_"A girl?" she asked more forcefully._

_"Yes." his tone was harsher than he meant. He knew what she was getting at and he didn't like it._

_"Mr. Jane, how would you feel if your daughter died, and you knew in your heart that you had something to do with it?"_

_A knot formed in his throat. He'd never even allowed himself to think about the possibility of something bad happening to her. "Well, that would be very sad."_

_"Very sad. Yeah." she agreed. "You have no idea. And you don't want to know, Mr. Jane. It's the worst kind of pain."_

_The psychic knew he had to regain control of his show. "Close your eyes for me, Ms. Kingston. Please. Humor me." he added when she had only raised her eyebrow. Finally, she obeyed. "Ms. Kingston, listen to me. Listen very carefully. You are here, aren't you? You must believe that I have powers... that I can speak to those who have gone on before."_

_She nodded, but couldn't speak. _

_"Then you must know that I can talk to your daughter. I can see her. She looks so much like you, but with a hint of her father. She has dark hair, and a smile that would light up a room." Tears fell down the woman's face more fiercely now. "You must know that I can see her... in my head.. I can see her. I can talk to her, and she is telling me that she does not blame you. Others do, your family, your husband. But she doesn't. How could you have known that she could get around the gate? It wasn't your fault."_

_----_

"I'm gonna be sick." Grace announced. She held her stomach and ran from the room. She'd seen enough.

"I'll go get her." Rigsby said, sitting his empty popcorn box down on the floor.

Jane cut him off. "No, I will."

"No offense, man, but you are the last person she wants to see right now." Rigsby told him.

"Probably. But sometimes the person you want the least is the exact same person you need the most."

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Patrick found Grace just where he knew she would be. At the back of the building in a small alleyway, squatting next to a wall like it was the only thing holding her up. Without saying a word, he slid down the wall beside of her.

"She never told me she came to see you."

"It's understandable. Obviously, it was very hard for her."

Grace's breath caught and a slim, bitter smile formed on her lips. "Hard. Yeah. It was hard on us all. Hannah was just five like you know. She was the light of all of our lives. She---- it nearly killed my sister when she died. Broke up her marriage because Cal blamed her for Hannah's death. She swore up and down that she'd closed the gate, that it was locked, but since she was the one who had found Hannah, and the gate was open when the EMTs got there...no one knew for certain if she was telling the truth." She paused, finding new and interesting things to stare at on the palm of her hand.

Jane never spoke. He knew he would get more out of Grace if he didn't. "I blamed her too." she went on. "I mean, how hard is it to lock a gate? She was blamed by everyone, by her Cal, by my parents, by the police, by me, by herself--"

"She shouldn't have been-- blamed that is. She did nothing wrong."

She looked at Jane, confusion and exhaustion written all over her face. "How can you know that?"

"Same as always, I take all of the facts and make a guess."

"No, it's more than that." she said with angry passion. "How could you have known about the fence?"

"All houses must have them if--"

"No! You _knew_--"

"I didn't." he protested. The conversation's beat growing with intensity and speed. "I don't. I don't know."

"Yes. You say you are a fake--"

"I am."

"She _believed _in you!" Grace's words came out almost like a plea. Her sister had believed in Patrick Jane, the famous psychic. The one person in the world who could make her feel better, and he'd used her.

"I know." Jane said gently. He knew all to well. He laid his hand on top of Grace's which was on her knee, but she shook it away. Slowly, he did the same until she stopped fighting and allowed him to hold on. "I know she believed in me. A lot of people did-- but after everything with--- after Red John, I came clean. I told the truth. What doesn't make any sense here is why now? Why now after all of these years do these two women kill themselves?"

"Because of the notes?"

"No, and you know it too. Did you ever speak to your sister about me?"

"Occasionally. She knew I worked with you, but never said anything about the reading."

"Think very carefully, Grace. Even the slightest thing could help."

Grace closed her eyes and thought back to the very limited conversations her and her sister had had since Hannah's death. "We didn't talk much. I blamed her as much as anybody."

"Don't dwell on that now, Grace. Did she ever mention me?"

She thought harder. "The only thing I can remember is that she called you a fake once."

"So she already knew."

"Yes."

Jane let go of Grace's hand and began to stand up. "So the question becomes, why did these letters show up now? And why frame Red John?"

Grace leaned her head against the wall, completely exhausted by the whole ordeal. "I have no idea. It doesn't make sense though."

"No." He offered his hand to help her up, and she hesitated his help. "Grace, you can hate me all you want later. I won't blame you, but now we have to get back in and see what the others have pulled from the tape. Besides, if I don't get you in soon, Rigsby might come out here and beat my ass."

"Pity." She said finally grabbing his hand.

"Sarcasm. Fantastic." he said, forcing himself not to smile.

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Once inside, Rigsby asked a Grace if she was alright, all the while shooting Jane a "if you hurt her..." look.

Cho decided to be the voice of reason and said, "We pulled these pictures from the members of the audience, both those who spoke to Jane and those that didn't. We have names, of course, of the ones who spoke. Jane, we need you to tell us who were plants and who weren't. Also, we need you both to look at the pictures and see if you can see anyone familiar."

Van Pelt and Jane sat side by side watching the photos go by on a computer slide show Cho had put together while they were outside. Seeing their faces, Jane remembered them all... and all the lies he told him. Van Pelt only saw strangers... strangers who had gone to Jane for help and ended up scammed. Then finally........

"Oh my God." she gasped. "I recognize him." She pointed to the picture on the screen, and Cho stopped the slide show. "Who is he?" he asked.

"I can't remember his name, but he was here yesterday. He's the officer who told me about Faith's death. He's one of the two who brought me the box. Officer.... Um.. Officer Jason. Jason Copola."

"And the box had the letter and flier in it?" Jane asked, but knew the answer. Sometimes he just had to ask questions so the others could catch up.

"Yes." she verified.

"And the police log in your sister's death had no mention of the papers?"

"No." she said, eyebrow raised.

"Interesting." Jane said to no one in particular. This time, he couldn't stop this smile that crossed his lips. Finally, it was all starting to make some sort of sense.


	5. The Game

Chapter 5: The Game

Later that day...

Officer Jason Copola sat impatiently in one of the nondescript interrogation rooms of the state building. Wearing his off duty staple- dark wash denim jeans and blue t-shirt- he was anxious to get this waste of his time over with so he could be on his way. Places to be and people to do as it were.

"Sorry to keep you waiting." Teresa Lisbon announced as she entered the room with a manila folder tucked under her arm. The off duty officer couldn't hide the hint of a smile that crossed his lips. The CBI agent had a reputation for being a rough, tough bitch- at least that's what the men in his building referred to her as. For his part, he liked strong women. Women who couldn't and wouldn't be manipulated. It made the challenge more satisfying.

Despite his enjoyment of watching the way the senior agent's emerald green shirt hugged her breasts and how nicely the soft waves of her hair framed her face, he spoke with an edge of annoyance. "Is there a point to this? It's my day off."

"I know and I'm sorry, Officer Copola. We will wrap this up as quickly as possible so you can be on your way. There are just a few loose ends we have to tie on the Kingston case before we put it to bed."

"That was the suicide, wasn't it?"

"Yes, _apparent_ suicide." she clarified.

"You aren't so sure?"

"It's not what I think that matters. I'm sure you are aware as supervising officer that there was a letter at the scene written by a man named Red John."

Behind the two way mirror, Patrick Jane flinched as he did every time he heard that name. After five years, he was getting better, but even still, his hands turned cooler and his jaw tightened ever so slightly at the sound of that man's name. Jane quietly studied the officer. His blue eyes remained fixed on him-- save for the brief hesitation he had when he saw Lisbon enter the room. He could have sworn she had on a different color shirt that morning. Not that he minded. It looked good on her. Locking those thoughts away, Jane focused on the task at hand. He was anxious to see if his plan went-- well according to plan.

"Red John." Copola repeated. Of course he knew the name. Everyone knew the name as well as the names of all other serial killers in and around California. "I don't recall any letter from Red John. Was it in the log?"

"No, but it was in the box you delivered to Agent Van Pelt when you brought her sister's belongings."

The officer didn't know whether to smirk or scowl. "Are you accusing me of planting the letter or tampering with evidence?"

"Neither." Lisbon said, her face void of emotion. She wanted to accuse him, but had no real evidence as of yet. Things didn't just end up in boxes without someone putting them there. "I'm just asking if there is any possible way that you could have missed it?"

The door next to Jane opened and in walked Grace. Without a word, the young agent sat next to him and began to watch the conversation in the other room intently. Patrick took his eyes away from the interrogation room and turned them to his companion. She looked rougher than she had this morning. Strands of her red hair had fallen out of her low ponytail, and she'd made no effort to place them back. "Thought Lisbon told you to stay away."

"I'm ignoring her." Van Pelt replied simply, eyes trained in front of her.

Jane grinned despite himself. "That's my girl."

"You don't think I know what's going on?" The officer said, leaning back in his uncomfortable chair. "You had me come here instead of talking to me in my own home or work or whatever so your psychic could get a look at me."

"My psychic?"

The officer looked to the mirror and waved his first two fingers in a knowing manner. Jane looked amused and waved back, realizing the man couldn't see him, but none-the-less happy that he wasn't a complete fool. Complete fools were no fun to fool. People who thought they weren't complete fools were the best to play with. "Did you plan on him knowing you were here?" Grace asked sarcastically.

"My plan is complicated on many levels." he told her. "Just be patient."

The officer continued to speak to Lisbon. "Yeah, your charlatan. You know, you could have a promising career in the bureau if not for him... at least, that's what I've heard."

"That right." Lisbon leered, this time she crossed her arms in front of her and leaned back. Her body language reflected his.

"Everyone's talking about it. Whispering about it. Wondering how you get any cases to convict at trial with your suspects being conned by a conman and with your endorsement."

Lisbon studied the man for a moment, looking him directly in the eyes. She'd heard the rumors herself a few times. The whisperings of how Agent Lisbon couldn't solve a case without the swami. She hadn't let it bother her and she wouldn't now. "Officer Copola, is it fair to say that you don't have a favorable impression of Patrick Jane?"

He laughed bitterly. A hint of a twinkle in his dark eyes. "You could say that, but then again, you already knew that, didn't you? Why else would I be here?"

"You said you were here so Jane could get a look at you." she brought his own words back to him.

"And so I am. But you know-- I'm sure you watched the tape of the psychic's show to see the suicide's connection to the ever so famous Patrick Jane and you _probably_ saw me."

"You would be correct-- about seeing you that is."

"So?"

"You were one of the people who got to talk to Jane." she said frankly.

He shrugged. "Again I say, so?"

"He told you that your sister's death wasn't your fault."

"He told me what I wanted to hear." the officer snapped back. For the first time, Lisbon saw more than just annoyance or humor in his eyes. She saw anger and hurt. She'd talked to a lot of men over the years with the same look and it still turned her turn ice cold.

"And you seem angry by that."

Copola opened his mouth to speak, then shut it quickly. He wasn't stupid after all. You couldn't do what he did and be stupid. Instead, he ran his hand through is disheveled black hair and leaned over the table toward Lisbon. "What does any of this have to do with anything?"

"Does the name Caitlyn Robb mean anything to you?"

The question threw him off guard. He quickly composed himself, but not quickly enough for Jane not to catch the slight dilation of his eyes. "Should I?" the officer asked.

"She was a participant at Jane's show as well. She was found dead yesterday, and it appears that she received the same Red John letter as Faith Kingston."

"Suicide?"

"Looks that way."

Copola sighed heavily. "And you think I had something to do with it?"

Lisbon lips curved amused, like that was the farthest thing from her mind. "Did you?"

"No."

"That's what I thought. We have two victims who were at the same show with the same Red John letters--"

"It's a puzzler."

"You can see why we are a little curious to question everyone who was there. If we can find a pattern in this, there is a real shot at capturing Red John once and for all."

Copola looked passed Lisbon toward the mirror where he assumed Jane would be sitting. "Should make the psychic happy." he deadpanned.

"Should make everyone happy." she corrected. "So far, we've found nearly everyone."

"Nearly?"

"There is a woman by the name of Sarah Manning that we have yet to locate."

"You don't say." the officer replied, his eyebrow arching slightly. Behind the mirror, Jane raised his as well, but for other reasons.

"So despite what you might think, that's the _real _reason you are here, officer. Have you received any letters written about your experience at Patrick Jane's show with a red smiley face at the bottom?"

Copola took a minute before he answered. "Can't say that I have."

"Big f'ing bastard." Van Pelt seethed under her breath. Jane smiled at her, but said nothing. She was right after all. Jason Copola _was _a big f'ing bastard. They just had to prove it.

"Can I go now?" Copola sighed agitated. "I had plans and there was no reason to have me come in just to ask me that. You could have asked me at my home."

"Yes, we could have, but you made it easier on us. Thank you so much for your time and patience."

"Yeah, sure." He scoffed, getting up from his chair.

"Boss." Cho entered the interrogation room, nary an excited feature on his face, but he did have a happy sparkle in his eye. "We found Sarah Manning."

"Agent Cho--" Lisbon admonished, pointing at Copola. "I'm in here having a conversation."

Cho looked at the off duty officer and shrugged. "He's a cop, right? He knows how to keep a secret."

The officer nodded. Cho's eyes went back to his boss and went on. "Sarah Manning lives at 314 Locklin Drive. Should Rigsby and me go talk to her?"

Lisbon pretended to think for a second. "No, let me finish up here, and we'll go see her in a few hours. There are a few other show participants who are coming in to talk to us before we can leave anyway."

"Got it, boss." the agent said before leaving the room.

"Excellent performance. That man should be in show business." Jane observed his friend from behind the glass.

"Glad you 're enjoying it." For her part, Grace saw nothing good about any of this. Just arrest Copola for killing her sister and be done with it. She was tired of all of Jane's games. Of course, she knew that they really had no evidence that he had anything to do with it, just Jane's hunch. No matter how mad she thought she should be at him for what he did to her sister five years ago, Grace wanted to believe that he was right about Copola. The alternative, that her sister really had killed herself and Red John had something to do with it, was to painful.

"It's the small things, Van Pelt. You have to focus on the small things. That's how you make it through." To that she said nothing. What else was there to say?

"Ok, Officer Copola. That's it. Thank you for your time." Lisbon extended her hand which he shook. He then looked directly at the two way mirror. "Mr. Jane. A pleasure to see you again." his tone was darkly humorous. Once he was out of the door, it was Lisbon's turn to talk to the mirror. "Happy?"

"Exceedingly." he replied, even though he knew she couldn't hear him.

"Alright, Jane, lets go. Van Pelt," Graced jumped at the greeting, "you stay _here_."

"How did she know I was back here?" the young woman asked flabbergasted.

Jane smiled brightly. "Looks like I'm rubbing off on her."

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_A/N: Thank you for the reviews. They make me happy. I'm really enjoying writing this story, and I hope you like reading it. As usual, the disclaimer that I don't own these characters and you are probably happy about applies. And all mistakes are mine._


	6. The Sting

_Disclaimer: I don't own The Mentalist... or Twizzlers... or Ghost Hunters....._

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Chapter 6: The Sting

Grace couldn't help it. Part of her (a bigger part than she liked to admit) felt left out. She'd been ordered by her superior to stay away from Sarah Manning's house. Lisbon reminded her that if she helped, she would jeopardize the investigation. Defense attorneys had a field day when family members were on a case-- especially one that was bordering entrapment.

So, there she sat.

Alone in the office. Sure, there were others around. A few scattered members of other teams walking by her, noticing her, not speaking to her... but not _her_ team. Not her friends... not her, whatever the hell Jane was. They had all left her and went to the Manning house. "We'll get him," her friends promised. "He'll pay," they said. She knew they meant well, but nothing they could do would be enough. Nothing would bring her sister back... and nothing would allow her to time travel back 7 years and tell her that it wasn't her fault. Nothing would fix it.

She hated being left alone. She hated that she couldn't go and confront the SOB who caused her sister's death, be it 'helpful' suicide or murder. She wondered if Lisbon would have had the same stern talk with Jane if Red John had really been involved in the case. If she would have forced him to stay behind while she went after the person who killed his family.

So, she paced.

She thought.

She did paperwork.

She waited.

She fidgeted.

She wasn't patient.

She looked at the clock on her desk for the fifth time in ten minutes and realized that it was only 8:53 pm. They still hadn't called her. Again, she felt the walls closing in.

She couldn't be there any more.

As she drove her Jeep out of the statehouse lot, it was both her inexperience and grief that prevented her from noticing the dark SUV falling in line behind her.

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"What's taking so long?" Agent Kimball Cho asked, dog-earring the page of his book, and turning off the small light he was using to discretely read behind the steering wheel. He was finding it very difficult to concentrate on the novel-- especially with the blonde backseat occupant hovering over his shoulder. "Hey, I wasn't finished." the voice behind him protested.

Cho sighed and tossed the book behind him. "Knock yourself out."

Then, he heard some sort of happy noise which caused him to shake his head. There never would be another Patrick Jane-- Thank God.

"He should have been here by now." Lisbon scanned the vacant street ahead of her. Locklin Drive wasn't exactly upscale living, but it definitely wasn't a dump either. She estimated the houses value to be mid 700s, give or take. It wasn't like Sarah Manning had done well for herself. In fact, besides two very low budget pornos, being one of Jane's 'plants' was the only paying gig she'd ever had.

The house they were staking out was a modest white, two story with large wrap around porches on both floors. The house looked more like a southern bell than a California charmer, but it had been cheap. The state liked cheap.

Sarah Manning- now going by the name Rose Anderson- wasn't there. Had never been there. Would more than likely never be there. Sarah was now living in a town about 10 minutes away, the wife of an 'alledge' drug dealer. She'd been contacted by the CBI about Jane's show, the suicides, the letters, and the case against Officer Copola. She'd been angry. She'd cursed at Lisbon. But ultimately, she calmed and agreed to contact them if she received any strange letters. No one really believed her, but what could they do?

With the real Sarah Manning safely tucked away, as safely as a drug dealer's wife could be, the team concentrated on the Sacramento house with the 'fake' Sarah Manning watching television inside...

"Anything?" Lisbon asked into her cellphone.

"Nothing, boss." Agent Rigsby answered back. The phone was casually placed to his cheek. His legs propped up on the coffee table in front of him. He'd been held up in the house for over six hours, and he was getting bored.

On the other end, Lisbon heard the distinct sounds of Ghost Hunters behind her agent's bored voice. "Anything outside?" he asked.

"Negative. Nothing."

Rigsby tore a bite of his Twizzler, frustrated. Sure he was tired, but he wanted to hurry up and catch the bastard that hurt Van Pelt's sister. He assured himself that he'd feel that way about any of his friends...not just the gorgeous redhead. "Think he'll show?"

"Oh, he'll show." an eavesdropping Jane reassured from the backseat loud enough for Rigsby to hear over Lisbon's cell. The consultant was sprawled across the backseat, his legs resting across the bench. Cho's book rested lightly on his thighs. "He has to."

"Alright." Rigsby sighed, closing his phone and turning up the volume. It was time for Jay and Grant to make their reveal.

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The first place Grace thought to go was home to the apartment she'd lived in ever since she got to Sacramento. She could soak in the tub, drink a glass of wine--- picture her sister laying dead in the morgue being autopsied---

Shaking the horrible image from her mind, Grace turned on the road going toward her house, but never turned at her building. Instead, she kept driving, not knowing where she'd end up. Twenty minutes later, she found herself pulling into the gated driveway of her sister's small estate one county over.

A large wrot iron gate normally blocked the drive. It was ornate at the top with swirls and beautiful old world designs. The bottom was made up of simple 1 inch bars. It had been a compromise between her sister and her husband. She'd liked simple things. He'd been more art oriented. The gate had been the perfect compromise. Before Hannah's death they had been like that, able to compromise on just about everything. They were the perfect couple. To Grace's surprise, the gate had been left open and yellow police tape telling her "Do Not Enter" replaced it. Faith would have hated that. She hated the gates opened-- or so she remembered. Grace got out of the car and walked up the drive.

Several lamps illuminated the street of the once upscale neighborhood. It hadn't been thought of that way in twenty years since houses around in neighboring counties had become larger and more elegant. Still, it was much nicer than Grace's one bedroom apartment.

Grace took a moment to compose herself as she hadn't been to Faith's house in seven years. It was dark, save the few strands of light from the streetlamps. Sadly, she could still picture beautiful Hannah playing in the yard. Could see the way her curls bounced in the sunlight. How she'd looked like an angel. Maybe she had been an angel... maybe that's why she died so soon.

She rubbed her palms quickly against her coat sleeves. Even though it was a warm California day, she was freezing on the inside. She ducked under the police tape and slowly made her way the fifty or so feet to the house.

Like the gate, she found the front door was unlocked. Grace hated this. She might not have liked her sister very much for the past few years, but this was too much. Even an idiot knew that you should lock a house after a crime. What if someone wanted to steal her sister's stuff?

When she walked in the the door, she was startled by how quiet it was. The only light filtering throughout the room came from the streetlights outside and, at the far away distance, they didn't light much of her way. Eerie shadows felt real and the room seemed to be in another dimension. Trying to find her barrings, she felt for and found the light switch on the wall. Before she could flip it, her eyes fell out the kitchen doors and onto the patio where the pool had been. Outside flood lights, probably on a timer, switched on, lighting up the back pool area like a scene from a bad movie. The unexpectedness of it startled her and a lump formed in her throat. Calming herself, she began to make her way through the formal dining room and white, modern kitchen. She opened the french doors and proceeded outside.

She was already inside before the black SUV without any headlights pulled up behind her jeep.

She was heading out the patio doors when the front door opened unnoticed.

She was crying uncontrollably at the gate to the pool-- now triple locked-- the pool cemented over, before she felt the unexpected sting in her upper arm and saw the world go black.

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"I don't like this." Lisbon said to no one in particular as she downed another sip of her dwindling coffee supply. She looked at the dashboard clock-- 10:53.

The agent beside her agreed.

"You know, Cho" the voice called from the seat behind them, "I never saw you as a person who likes teen-aged vampire angst. I mean, I guess it's true what they say, people can fool you. To each his own. For me, though, the saga of Bella and Edward, just seems kind of odd."

Cho's cheeks flushed slightly. He was glad it was dark on his side of the car so Jane couldn't see-- and mock. "I forgot Cross at home, and Van Pelt lent it to me."

"Uh, huh, sure." Cho could feel Jane's smile all the way up front. It was irritating.

Jane filed away in his head that Cho liked crime novels, or at least pretended to like them. He was probably just as interested in Twilight as Van Pelt, but was to manly to admit it. And Grace, it seemed, liked to read young adult books. Probably because they contained pure love. Untainted love. It was all the love she could handle with whatever trauma she'd suffered in her past.

Tiring of the exploits of Bella and Edward, Jane turned off Cho's handheld reading light and leaned across the front seat with his companions. "I agree. Something about this is wrong."

"It was your plan." Lisbon reminded him.

Jane shewed her like he was swatting a pretend fly. "Details. Best laid and all." Silence. "Anyone hear from Van Pelt?"

"I'm giving her space." Teresa answered. "She wasn't happy with me the last time we spoke."

"Nor would I have been." Jane's comment earned a smirk from Cho which delighted him. "You _were_ pretty harsh on her, Lisbon."

"I was not harsh. I used my stern voice to emphasis how important it was for her _not _be involved tonight. She went behind my back and watched my questioning of Officer Copola, and I didn't want her to pull the same stunt tonight."

"Oh you don't have to explain to me." Jane sat back and put up his arms like a man under arrest. "I'm just saying that you were pretty hard on her, that's all."

"Hard my ass." Lisbon bit back. Yes she was annoyed, but mainly because Jane was right and she had been hard on the young agent... but for her own good. She picked up her phone on a sigh and dialed. "Who are you calling?" Cho asked. "Who do you think?" she frowned.

"Yeah boss." Rigsby answered on the other line.

"Have you heard from Van Pelt?"

At the sound of her name, Rigsby immediately sat up causing his Twizzlers to fall to the floor. "Crap.. I mean. No. No-- I-- should I have?" he stammered.

"He doesn't want you to know he has a thing for her." Jane said 'helpfully'.

Lisbon covered the phone with her hand, "I don't care if he has a thing for the freakin' Mona Lisa. I just want to know if he's spoken to Van Pelt."

"Don't tell me..." Jane said again.

She glared, then heard, "Boss, should I call her? Do you think she's in trouble?"

She rubbed her forehead hoping it would cause the intense headache she was getting to magically disappear. "No, I'm sure she's fine. I was just being nosy."

"That's my line." Jane chuckled as the senior agent shut her phone. Noticing her tension, he scooted over behind her and began rubbing her temples. "What the hell are you doing?" she admonished at the initial contact. "Just relax, would ya? No sense in hurting if it can be helped." His fingers lightly rubbed her temples and, without her wanting to, her eyes shut.

Cho eyed them both, same stoic look on his face. Jane looked to him and smiled. "Don't worry, my friend. You're next."

"No thanks man." he replied in his usual 'Walker, Texas Ranger' way.

Lisbon felt the pain in her head fading... fading... going... hell. "Boss." Cho tapped her on the arm, disturbing her mere seconds before she knew her headache would be gone. As it was, it just made it pound harder. "Look." Lisbon followed the pointing finger and saw a dark colored sedan pull up to Sarah Manning's house. She smacked Jane's hands away from her head and sat up, watching the scene in front of her. Not the least aggravated at Lisbon, Jane's eyes trained on the man fifty yards ahead of them. He was looking around nervously while getting a black bag from the trunk. Lisbon called Rigsby. Looked like Jason Copola had finally arrived.

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The first thing Grace felt was dizzy. The next thing was numbness. Her head felt like it had on her twenty-first birthday when her friend Jackson insisted she keep drinking "just one more". One to many (and the aid of the date rape drug) had caused her to feel like the entire world was spinning off kilter. But that was then.....

She tried to open her eyes. To see where she was, but it was dark, and shadows flew around the room.

Her hands were the next thing she felt. Ice cold and numb. Raised over her head and attached to... something. Something cold. Something hard. A rod? A banister? A bedpost?

No, she was sitting up. Sitting on something hard. The floor. She knew that much to be true in any case.

_Concentrate, Grace. Focus._ _Where are you?_

Slowly, her eyes began to undialate and fix on her surroundings. She was sitting in large room, hands over her head... cuffed . On what, she couldn't be sure. The air was cold on her bare arms... bare arms. Hadn't she worn a coat in?

Shadows danced around her like poltergeists dancing around a fire. She listened. A humming. Far away cars. A highway nearby, but not close enough to run for. Not that she felt she could run. Along with her hands being cuffed over her head, her legs felt like jello.

The room focused more. A door. Directly in front of her. She remembered that door.

A staircase. She was cuffed to a staircase. The sparkling marble she sat on twinkled with every dance of the shadows. The stairs went up at least two stories. To her right was a bare wall... looked to be beige or tan or some color of light brown she couldn't think of at the moment. To her left, was an entryway to somewhere.

_Where have I been?_ Grace thought, trying to sort out the jumbled mess in her brain.

_Faith._

_Hannah, playing in the yard._

_Faith dead._

_Red John.. not Red John._

_Jason Copola. The Cop_

_Jane._

_Lisbon making her stay put._

_Going to Faith's house._

_Faith._

"Glad to see your awake." an unfamiliar, husky, male voice called down from behind her. By the footsteps she could tell that the person it belonged to was beginning to descent the stairs toward her.

_At the gate... the sting. _

She remembered. She'd been drugged. Damn it.

She tugged against the cuffs, bruising her wrists and causing laughter to erupt from behind her. "I thought they only did that on tv." She tried to turn to see her captor and was only met by a fist to the face. "You do not look at me. Are we clear on that?"

When she didn't answer, another blow to the cheek made her see stars. "Yes, Yes. We're clear." she gasped while spitting out a wad of blood.

"Good." she could hear humor in his raspy voice. She knew whoever it was, it wasn't someone who would hesitate to hurt her. Hurt if she was lucky.... kill if she wasn't.

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Agent Rigsby didn't answer the first knock at the door. He wasn't supposed to. Instead, he was instructed to wait in the living room, gun drawn. When Copola forced his way in, then and only then would he be allowed to take him. That way B and E would be evident and they would have him. Proving he killed Faith Kingston and Caitlyn Robb would come later.

Rigsby didn't have to wait long. He was rewarded after only two round of knocks with the sound of someone trying to jimmy the lock on the door.

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_Stay calm, Van Pelt. Stay calm._

"Who are you?" Grace asked in a voice that was supposed to convey bravery. It, in fact, came out more weak than warlike.

Again, she heard the man' s raspy laugh. It was an evil laugh simply because it didn't sound that evil. It was like any friend laughing at any lame joke, only the joke was turning out to be her. "Tell me." the man said, sitting on the step behind her. He began taking down her long ponytail and running his gloved fingers through her hair slowly. At his touch, Grace thought she'd be sick. "Don't worry, Grace. I'm not going to rape you. Not my MO." she felt him smile. Then he tossed her hair over her exposed shoulders. Without her coat, the cream color of her skin under her red tank and loose auburn hair falling delicately over her shoulders was striking even in the dark. He had to take a minute to appreciate it, admire it, see what (if anything) Jane saw in it.

"Tell me." he finally went on. "Do you think that Red John had anything to do with the woman's death?"

The question startled her at first and she didn't answer. She felt a hand raise to the side of her head and smash it against the banister she was attached too. Her cry echoed throughout the empty house. "That's not an answer, Grace. Lets try again. Do you think Red John had anything to do with your sister's death?"

"She got a letter from him." she said through anguish ridden lips. Her head felt like it had an entire orchestra playing in it.

"I don't like being toyed with."

She nodded her head, telling him she understood.

"And you believe everything you read?"

"No."

"Good." Another cry erupted from her lips as she felt another, harder, stick to her bicep. "It's nothing personal, Agent Van Pelt, I assure you." She felt the world tip again and the heaviness began to consume her once more. She heard herself pleading for him to stop. Telling him no.. but it was like it was hearing someone else speak. Like she wasn't even in her own body.

"No?" She heard him gleely tease in his deep voice. "No, what? No, don't kill me? No, don't hurt me? Sweety, I've heard them all before. But it's your lucky day, Grace. You see, I'm giving you a fighting chance. Think of it as a thank you present for the use of your cell phone and helping me taunt poor Mr. Jane."

Before her mind could process what the hell was going on and _who _had her, she felt a kind of numb, dull pain in her right wrist and then her left. If it were possible, she felt heavier than she had before. In a few seconds, she felt dripping on her head and some sort of liquid flowing down her face.

Blood.

He'd cut her wrists.

There was a tugging like he was doing something to them with a pen or a marker or..

His fingers.

Then nothing.

God, she couldn't see clearly, and her stomach was getting queesy. The weight of the world rested on her shoulders or so it seemed. Her eyes cut over to him, careful not to turn her head... careful so he wouldn't see. All she saw was his back (black shirt, black pants, cap on his head.. a tuft of hair, but what color? She couldn't see). He drew something on the wall. Something.... red.

Something...

Smiling back at her.

Her heart beat faster. Her hands became sweaty. Her mind screamed for her legs to move.... for her body to move. But it didn't work. She felt paralysed. She felt helpless and truly alone.

The next thing she knew, he was standing in front of her. His face hidden by the ghost shadows which appeared to be following him. Maybe he was the Devil and the shadows were his demons. "Smile Grace." she heard, but couldn't obey. The last thing she saw was the light flashing over his face... and the ice blue twinkle in his eyes.

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"On the ground, NOW!"

The intruder, startled, did as ordered. Rigsby quickly ran over and held the man face down at gunpoint until the others arrived. Within minutes, Lisbon, Cho, and Jane walked in the door, the former two had their guns drawn.

"Good job." Lisbon told the agent before Mirandizing the suspect.

Patrick Jane stood at the door frame watching. Something wasn't right. Something wasn't...........

Quickly, he turned on the foyer light and saw what it was. The man on the ground had blond hair. Jason Copola had black hair. "That's the wrong man." Jane whispered to Lisbon who was just finish up the Miranda rights. She motioned to Rigsby who turned him over. "Jees--" she fell against the wall deflated. "Who the hell are you?"

"I want my lawyer."

"Lawyer my ass, I want a name."

"Sam Dixon."

"Who's Sam Dixon?" Cho wondered.

Lisbon smirked briefly and stood back up from the wall. Jane hadn't been right after all. "Van Pelt said that there were two officers who delivered her sister's things. One was Jason Copola.. and his partner--"

"Sam Dixon." Rigsby answered.

"I want my lawyer." the fallen officer said, stating each word slowly and surely. "This isn't want it looks like."

"Uh-huh." Cho began helping Rigsby get the guy up when Jane's cellphone began beeping. Lisbon rolled her eyes at him, but then found her own began ringing not a second later. "It's the curse of technology." Jane smiled at the handcuffed man, not letting it show that being wrong bothered him. He heard Lisbon answering her phone as he walked outside on the porch to see what he'd received.

A text message from Van Pelt.

Curious, he clicked View Now, and his world collapsed again.

It was a picture of Grace, alone in a nearly darkened room. Her hands bound over her head and a dark liquid staining her face. Next to her on the wall, leered a crudely drawn red smiley face.

Under the picture read, "Heard you were looking for me. I don't like being toyed with, Mr. Jane. I thought I taught you better than that. I'll give you a chance this time. See if you can find her before she bleeds to death. If not, she can join your family in hell.. :)"

"Lisbon! Lisbon!!" Jane yelled, running back into the house. He found her talking to the two other agents. "Jane, you were wrong. Copola did strike. Sarah Manning-- the real Sarah Manning-- was found dead by her husband about two hours ago."

Jane didn't hear any of it. He shoved the phone into Lisbon's face. He watched her lips read the caption and gasp at the picture. "Where is she?"

Jane shook his head. His blue eyes big and scared. "I don't know. I haven't got a clue. But she's not got much time."


	7. The Mouse and the Cheese

Chapter 7: The Mouse and the Cheese

_Click._

_"Grace. I had no idea people still used the clicking sound on their cellphone cameras. You learn something new every day." _

_Muffled laughter. Sinister laughter. _

Van Pelt's world was spinning, fading in and out of blackness. Nothing made sense. Strange noises. Far off voices. His voice. Husky, dark, weird.... Numbness and pain at the same time. "Wh--at did you give m-me?" she stammered, her head and eyes rolling as she spoke. She prayed it wouldn't go black again. She hated when things went black.

"Don't worry. It's not enough to kill you. Just enough to make you out of it for a while. The slit wrists? Well, they are enough to kill you. Jane had better hurry. He doesn't need one more death on his conscience. Whatever would that do to him?" He paused for a minute in the filtered light from a streetlamp long enough for Grace to get one good blurred look at him. "Oh, my God." her words were barely audible, but rang in her ears. To her, with her spinning head and her loss of blood, he looked like a smiling, shape-shifting demon. Maybe he was. Maybe that's why he'd never been captured. He noticed her lovely eyes on him, but didn't care now. The drug would make it where she'd never be able to recognize him... if she lived that long. He gave her 30-70 odds. A sporting chance at least.

"Smile again for me, Grace. Lets make this a keeper."

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Five minutes after the first text message, Jane received the second. This time he didn't show it to Lisbon, who was busy explaining to her boss, Minelli, over the phone what had happened. And he didn't show it to Rigsby or Cho. What good would it do? Rigsby was steaming over Grace's disappearance, and Cho, well he'd use Cho when and if he needed. They were both at the far end of the room with the handcuffed Sam Dixon, trying to figure out where Grace might be.

Discretely, Jane opened the new text from 'Van Pelt'. He'd prepared himself for it this time so the shock wasn't as big but definitely there. Grace was in the same spot. Bleeding wrists still bound above her head. This time it was a closer picture of her. Her red hair was beginning to mat to her head from the drying blood, and her eyes were beginning to get glossy. The caption read, "Tick, Tock. Times wasting. Don't want to lose more of your family, do you Jane?"

He sank down next to the front door. He couldn't cut his eyes away from the picture. He might not love Grace like Rigsby did, but he _did_ care very deeply for her in his own way.

The picture... the situation... all of it caused his own head to spin. He saw flashes in his own mind, both past and present.

_Walking up the steps... _

_being so proud..._

_the first time he met Grace..._

_how nice she'd been... _

_seeing the note from Red John on the bedroom door..._

_the way Grace's eyes burned when she was mad at him..... _

_opening the door... _

_the way Grace smiled at him when he made a stupid joke...._

_seeing his wife... _

_dead..._

_seeing his daughter.... _

_so still... she was never still... much to full of life...._

_seeing his Grace...._

_still....._

_bloody...._

_Dying...._

The sound of a voice thankfully broke him from his thoughts. Past and present were becoming too intertwined. Jane knew that he couldn't get Grace back _or_ make that SOB pay who had her if he couldn't push through his mental breaks. He had to keep it together. At least on the outside.

"Minelli said another team is heading to check out Sarah Manning's apparent suicide. And that the the FBI will be called to help find Van Pelt." Lisbon told the assembled group while placing her cell back in her back pocket.

"Won't do any good." Jane replied from the floor, his legs pulled to his chest, eyes still on Grace's picture.

"Don't say that." Rigsby ordered.

"It won't." Jane said again, this time with more conviction. "Grace's wrists are slashed. She doesn't have a lot of time. The FBI will be too late."

"Are we sure it's Red John this time?" Cho asked. "The letters weren't from the real Red John, so maybe he isn't the one who has her."

"It's him." Jane made his tone where none of them doubted. He knew it was Red John. He _knew_ it

"Then what do we do?" Cho asked, the voice of reason. He spoke to Lisbon, but it was the consultant who answered. "We try to solve Red John's riddle. He wants us, me, to find her. Whether she's dead or alive, doesn't matter to him."

"It matters to me!" Rigsby roared from across the room. He was this close to punching something. He should be out there looking for Grace, not sitting here with a scum dirty cop to process and Jane who thought he was in charge. Jane who might like Grace as a friend, but _not _like he did... right now, she was just a means to Jane's end... his way to get Red John.

"It matters to me too!" Jane yelled back. The tone of his voice startled Lisbon, but she refused to let it show. In all the time she'd known him, she never heard him yell like that. She watched as he hugged his legs tighter to his body and hold the phone closer to his chest. His eyes were far away... very distant. "I mean," he said softer, "Grace matters to all of us. It wouldn't do any good, however, to go around like a chicken with our heads cut off. Red John has sent us clues."

"What clues? The text?" Lisbon asked, walking over to Jane and fighting the urge to place a comforting hold on his arm. It wasn't the time to coddle him.

He nodded. "That, and the other one he just sent." Jane lifted the phone to Lisbon who took it. Her throat turned dry even though she fought against it. _Treat it like every other case, _she reminded herself for the second time in two days. "Tick. Tock. Times wasting. Don't want to lose more of your family, do you Jane?" she mumbled the text message to the others.

"Family? Could he have her at your house?" Cho wondered.

"No, Even with the darkness of the picture, I can see it's not mine."

"How about other family, or..."

"Grace's family." Rigsby answered for him.

"Grace's family." Jane's blue eyes met Lisbon's with a look she'd never seen in them before. It was both hopeful and loathing. She knew that as much as he wanted Grace back, and that was a lot, he wanted revenge on Red John more. That meant everything to him. "Her sister's house. He has her at her sister's house."

Lisbon was on the phone instantly looking for the address. "Got it," she announced seconds later. Jane stood and was out the door and heading for the car before anyone could stop him. Rigsby was right behind him, but Lisbon darted in front of him before he could reach the doorway. He towered over her, but she was his boss. "You have to stay here and process Mr. Dixon with Cho."

She could see the fire erupting from Rigsby's ears, and rightfully so. Even she knew how much he cared for the young woman. "Grace is out there."

"And you arguing with me is wasting time. You go in there half-cocked, you'll get her killed. You go with Cho. I'll go make sure Jane doesn't do anything stupid." She didn't wait for a reply before she left the large man standing there, stewing. "I'm sorry man." Cho told his friend, standing Sam Dixon up for transport.

"Guess she'll be joining her sister soon, huh?" the cuffed officer smirked, which was a very bad mistake. Before he could blink, he saw the image of Rigsby's large balled fist hurling toward him, causing to flinch. When he heard the loud smash beside him, he carefully opened his eyes. Rigsby's hand was about three inches from his ear, and sticking out of the wall. "Should'uv hit him." said Cho while leading the suspect away.

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About ten minutes later, Lisbon and Jane arrived at the house of Faith Kingston. Jane had been driving incredibly fast, and she hadn't protested. She'd been on the phone to Minelli on the way. Back up would be there in less than five minutes. She knew that Jane wouldn't wait, and that she couldn't stop him.

Van Pelt's car was parked along the street, as was a dark SUV. Lisbon wrote down the license and called to have them traced. Once Jane was parked, he opened the car door. "Wait." Lisbon told him, grabbing his arm.

"I'm going in. You know that." he told her, his signature smile no where in sight.

"I know that. And _you_ know that I can't until back-up gets here."

"Grace is dying." he reminded her sharply.

"It's a trap, Jane. Red John has set a trap for you. You're the mouse..."

"And Grace is the cheese.. I know that. We're wasting time. Are you coming with me or not?"

He didn't wait for her to answer. He leaped from the car and ran toward the open gate.

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_A/N: Sorry for the semi-short chapter. I wanted the next one to get it's own chapter without all of this exposition with it. Anyway, again, all mistakes are mine... I'm sure there are plenty. Also, I wanted to thank you for the reviews. I'm glad that (at least some of you) like it LOL. Next chapter 'should' be the payoff :) At least one of them LOL_


	8. The New Game

Chapter 8: The New Game

Patrick Jane wasn't a stupid man. He knew as well as anyone that this was a trap set by Red John. He also knew that he didn't care. He didn't care what happened to him as long as Grace was ok. And he didn't care if he died as long as he took Red John with him.

Once Jane reached the darkened front porch, he silently crept over to one of the large floor length windows on either side of the large front door. He peered in to survey the situation. Grace was sitting there just as she had been in her picture. Not wanting to be completely off guard, he took the time to take stock of the entire room. It was dark except for a few specks of light filtering in from the outside. Plenty of places for Red John to hide. Human nature made Jane hesitate and look back at the car housing Lisbon. He couldn't see it from where he crouched, but he knew it was there. He knew he should go back to her, get a gun, and at least have fighting chance. Human nature only lasted briefly, however, as he turned back, breathed deeply, and raced to open the door.

He turned the knob and smiled. It was unlocked. Red John was taunting him... making it easier on him.

Jane felt like he was torn between two realities. Reality one: Grace Van Pelt. Friend. Sometimes foe. A girl he he had come to respect and admire. A girl he liked to be around. Reality two: Red John. The man who slaughtered his family. The man who he had been searching for five years. Who he had laid awake and killed every night in his fantasies. He was so close he could taste him. So close he could feel him. The man in Patrick Jane wanted to go to Grace first.. but the father... the husband thirsted for Red John's blood.

It only took one look at Grace helplessly strapped to the staircase for him to make his decision. The man won. He ran to her, trying hard to ignore the red smiley face mocking him from the wall beside her. Red John would have to wait. At least until he knew Grace was ok.

Grace was as pale as the moonlight. She was so light even that she reminded him of the vampires in Cho's book. When he touched her skin, it was cold. The sensation startled him causing him to hesitate. His breath caught in his throat, and he couldn't speak.

Flashes... again with the flashes. Every since that night, he'd had flashes. He would see his wife dead, his daughter murdered while he was sitting getting ready to order take out, or at the CBI building when he wasn't keeping his mind occupied with mundane tasks like crossword puzzles or annoying his co-workers. He would see his wife: _pale skin, blue lips_. Feel her: _cold.. ice.. _Smell her: _he could never really get the smell of death off of him. Not after he'd held her in his arms, begging her not to leave him. Not caring that she'd been dead at least two-three hours._

Jane began to panic... a feeling that he didn't like nor that he had often. He held Grace to him and gently stroked her cheek telling himself that she was fine--- she would be fine.

Not letting her go, he grabbed her shoulder and shook her lightly at first then with more force. "Grace, wake up. Look at me, Grace."

No response. He shook her harder. His eyes caught a glimpse of her hair. The drying blood eerily enhanced the shade of crimson like morbid highlights.

"Grace, wake up!" he ordered more sternly.

Again, no response.

Cursing under his breath, he placed two fingers to her neck and felt a faint pulse. Relaxing slightly at the sensation, he gently guided his hand upward to her cool cheek. He tapped it as he spoke, "Grace, you have to wake up. Can you hear me?"

The third time he patted her cheek, Grace suddenly became animated. Her eyes flickered opened, horrified, and her whole body shuttered. "No." she muttered, suprising him. "No--L-Leave me al-alone." her voice was weak, but at least it was there.

"Grace. It's me. It's Jane. Just lay still, ok?. Calm down."

She shook her head side to side. It felt like it weighed a ton and the motion made her yet again dizzy so she stopped and closed her eyes. "No. It's not--- Not real. You're not real. You're him. You're messing with-- with me."

Jane felt her body tense and then her will to live, as little as she could possibly muster at the time, kick in. As frail as she was, she fought him with everything she had, which wasn't much. Her body arched away from him, and her legs seemed to be attempting to kick him. Jane laid his left hand gently on her shoulder to soothe her as he held her in his lap tighter. It reminded him of how he had held his daughter when she fell when she was four. He unintentionally used the same fatherly tone on her. "You're going to be ok, Grace. He's not here. He won't hurt you. But if you don't stop moving, you will injure your wrists more. Do you understand?"

It was a moment before she nodded yes.

"Good, girl." Never releasing his hold on her, he reached in his pocket, found his cell, and dialed 9-1-1. He gave the operator the specifics, and she in turn told him that police were already en route to that address, but she would send an ambulance as well. Before she could ask any questions about Grace's condition, he hung up. He saw no need in talking to a stranger over the phone when he knew what had to be done.

"Now listen to me. Listen very carefully." he told Grace. "Help is on the way, but before it gets here, I need you to remember something. Can you do that for me?"

She whispered yes so faintly he couldn't hear, but seeing her lips move, he went on. "Ok, I need you to think back. I need you to remember. Where are the keys to your handcuffs?"

She was quiet for what seemed like forever. So long, in fact, that he was just about to shake her awake again. Finally, she said, "Pocket--- in m-my pants pocket."

"Pocket. Great. You're doing great, Grace." He reached into her pants pocket, first the front right then left. Nothing. He raised her up and did the same for the back. Again, except for a ten dollar bill, they were empty. "They aren't here, Grace. Are you sure you had them?"

She nodded, slower now than before. Her eyes began to shut. He knew he was losing her.

"Where are they, Grace?!" he said louder than he meant.

The volume of his voice startled her, and her eyes flew open causing her world to spin like a carousel. "Sick" she told him before her body started convulsing, and she passed out on his shoulder.

"LISBON!" he yelled. "Lisbon, hurry up!" He pulled out his cell and called hers. No answer. Where the hell was she?

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Teresa Lisbon hadn't, in fact, waited for back up which in hindsight probably wasn't the smartest idea. She had gotten out of the car a few seconds after Jane and had seen him peering in the window of the Kingston home. When he had looked back at the car, she'd inadvertently been in the shadows forged by the street light meeting hedge where he couldn't see her. She had called to him, but he didn't hear. She had been about ten yards behind him when he entered the front door, and then she stopped.

In the corner of her right eye, she'd seen a figure, a shadow, run around the side of the house. There was no doubt in her mind that it was Red John. She'd unholstered her weapon and silently followed suit.

She had pursued him, followed a ghost, and it wasn't until she saw the gate opened and had gotten half way across the former pool that she realized that it had been a bad idea.

Hearing Jane yell for her, she abruptly turned to go to him. She knew Grace must be in bad shape by the sound of his voice. Hastily, she ran to the pool gate, gun drawn, and stopped. The previously opened gate was now shut. The glint of the closed locks told her that this was a hell of a situation. She was about to turn and go toward the french doors to see if she could get in that way when she felt a sharp stinging in her back followed by the cool breath in her ear. "I wouldn't move if I were you." it warned. And she obeyed.

"Who are you?"

He laughed. Hearing the man's voice, laughing in the dark with a knife threatening to skewer her, her skin turned clammy. "Who do you want me to be?" he answered with a hint of playfullness. She new instantly who it was.

"Oh come on. Such a corny pick up line for such a brilliant man like yourself." she tried to keep the mood light. Hoping it would buy her some time.

He was so close she could feel his breath on her neck. "Flattery will get you everywhere, my love, except for out of the grave." the knife slit her deeper causing her to grit her teeth. "I get it. You don't want to scream. You don't want the good Mr. Jane to know that we are out here." He turned her sharply toward the glass french doors. In the same movement, he took away her gun and pointed toward the inside of the house. From their location on the patio, in the dark shadows of the two story house, they could see Jane kneeling beside Van Pelt. Lisbon watched as he took off his vest, ripped it in two, and began bandaging Grace's wrists. "Interesting." the man mused. "Jane cares for the girl. You care for Jane. Who cares for you, Agent Lisbon?"

"How did you know my name?"

"Oh, I know all about Patrick Jane and his associates. I ask around. I know people. Know things. I know that he likes you very much, but after his family died so horribly... well you don't have a chance in hell my dear."

"That a fact."

"It is. I'm sorry to tell you this, but if you think he'll ever look at you like he looked at his wife, you have another thing coming. His wife-- she was stunning. She was..." he said almost like thinking about a pleasant memory.

"I don't feel like that toward Jane."

He half-laughed, amused. "Really. Lets see then." He aimed the gun at Jane's forehead.

"No." Lisbon whispered frantically. She tried to wiggle free, but the knife kept cutting into her back.

"No?" he laughed. "No, you don't like him or no don't kill him."

"Both." she said. It was almost an honest answer.

Removing the gun from Jane's head, he used the hand to gently place a strand of hair behind Lisbon's ear. The next word he spoke was whispered darkly into her ear. "Liar." She felt his lips curve upward as he said it.

The conversation stalled for a moment. Her mind racing, trying to figure her way out of this mess she'd gotten herself in, and him enjoying her trying.

"The cops will be here any minute I presume." he said breaking their stalemate.

She nodded slowly.

"Well then..You have to do something for me, Teresa. Mind if I call you Teresa?" When she didn't answer, he went on. "Jane's wife let me call her by her first name. Let me do all kinds of things to her 'as long as you don't hurt my daughter'." he sighed. "Sweet really. Stupid and pointless, but sweet."

"What do you want me to do?" she asked not wanting to hear about how he'd killed Jane's family. She was darting her eyes around her surroundings to see if she could find something.. anything... with a reflection. At least then,_when_ she got out of this, she could ID Red John once and for all.

"I want you to give me a ten minute head start." his request confused her. "I wish I had more of a plan for you, but in the end, you'll see that this will fit me rather nicely. Don't speak, but answer me yes or no. Did you already call in the tags on the SUV?"

She nodded.

He smiled. He loved when they cooperated. It was almost as fun as when they didn't. "And are the cops minutes away?"

Again, she nodded.

"Perfect. You are doing so well, Teresa. Last question. Do you want me to shoot either Patrick Jane or the girl tonight?"

She shook her head no.

"Then ask me how you're going to stop me?"

"How am I going to stop you?"

"You are going to call the police and tell them that it was a mistake. That the tags belonged to a neighbor. A nosy by-stander. You're a cleaver girl, make something up. You let me have ten minutes, then you can tell them whatever you want."

"What good does that do you?" she couldn't help asking. His plan made no sense to her.

"It does me a lot of good actually. See, I'm tired of the whole smiley face, evil doer crap. I've done it for 10 years and well it's been done to death... so to speak. I'm ready for something new. Broaden my horizons."

"And your new approach is to, what, talk me to death?" she shrugged like it was the most normal conversation in the world.

He had to smile at the spunky brunette. "No, though that's an idea for later. Actually, I'm more interested in the human psyche. What makes people tick as it were. Jane, the man you say you don't love or even like, has hunted more for five years. You have me. You could yell and he could come out and have his revenge. Granted, I'd kill him, but at least he would died knowing it wasn't in vain. I'm sure he plans on taking me with him anyway."

She could feel him smiling, enjoying himself. His actions were reminding her of the last scene in _Scream _when Billy Loomis and that other guy were explaining to Neve Cambell exactly how their plan had worked all the while taunting her and stabbing themselves idioticall. "But you, you will take that away from him. You, who I know he cares for, are going to let me go... sure it's so save his life... sure it's to save the girl's life. To selfishly save your own. That's what you'll tell him. Really, it's because you have grown quite fond of our little fake and don't want him to either die or go to jail. Wonder if he'll see it that way?"

It actually made a kind of sense to her. Sure, she'd be saving lives, but she knew Jane. Jane would be livid when he found out how close Red John had been. He wouldn't say it out loud. He would tell her it was ok, but inwardly, he'd be seething.

"Do we have a deal?"

It didn't take her long to consider. If she said no, he would kill Jane and Van Pelt instantly. If she said yes, he would get away, and Jane would blame her. She chose the lesser of the two evils. "Deal." she agreed.

"Oh good. You just saved Jane's life."

"And Van Pelt's."

She felt breath on her neck as he chuckled. Instantly, he stomach knotted. "Grace? Not so much. You see, that's my ace in the whole. Yeah, I cut her wrists, but cut wrists are oh so easy to fix. Jane seems to have done a pretty bang up job, don't you think?" He pointed the gun in the direction of Jane and Van Pelt inside the house. "But, Grace hasn't just had her wrist's slashed. I gave her something, a drug as it where. Your labs will find it eventually, but it will be too late for her. I told her it wouldn't kill her. I lied, sue me."

"But you said.--"

"I _said_ I wouldn't shoot her. I never said she wouldn't die. If after ten minutes, I see that I'm not being followed, I'll text you the name of the drug. You'll save Grace's life and she'll be eternal grateful. But if I so much as suspect that I'm being followed by the police, by Jane, by you, by anyone, your Agent Van Pelt will be sorely upset with you or she would be if she weren't dead. Do you understand?"

She wanted to ask how she could trust him, but she already knew the answer. There was no way to trust him. "I understand." she said. What other choice did she have? If she stalled him waiting for the cops who were probably only minutes away, he'd never tell her what he'd given Grace and she'd die.

"Good. I'm glad we had this time together, Teresa. It's been very informative. This should be helpful." He slid something metal in her hand then slowly backed away from her causing the stabbing pain in her back to numb. For that, she was grateful. "Count to fifty before you turn around. Once you do, call off the dogs. You'll hear from me in ten minutes. Can't wait to see how this turns out. Oh, and Teresa--" he called from the gate. "Tell that stupid cop Jason Copola that I don't like being messed with. And tell Jane I said hi."

She waited, ears strained, to hear anything else from him. When she was certain he was gone, she looked in her hand. Knowing instantly what it was, she grabbed her cell from her back pocket and began dialing Minelli.

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"Come on, Grace. Stay with me." Jane wasn't one to beg, but that's what he found himself doing now. He had wrapped Grace's wrists as best he could, but he needed that damn key.

It had been four minutes since he'd found her. Three since he'd called 9-1-1 and still no ambulances arrived. She was dying in his arms and no one was coming to help.

"LISBON!" he bellowed as loud as possible. He needed her. To hell with waiting for backup. Grace was dying, and Red John was somewhere out there, lurking in the shadows. ......

Then a thought hit him.

What if Red John had attacked Lisbon?

"LISBON!!" he screamed again.

"I'm here. I'm right here." she called, running in through the front door. Without stopping to look at him, she used the metal key Red John had given her and unlocked Grace's cuffs. "Where did you find those?" he asked suspiciously.

"Move her down and apply pressure to her wounds." she answered instead.

Jane did as he was told, but said again. "Lisbon, where did you get the key?" But he was almost psychic after all. Fake psychic sure, but attuned enough to figure out basically what was going on.

He kept his hands on Grace's injured wrists, but he stared at Lisbon in disbelief. "You let him get away."

She didn't answer him. What could she say? So instead she focused on checking Grace's pulse. Angry, frustrated, and nearing shock, Jane grabbed Lisbon's arm so hard it hurt. "You let him go?"

"Let go of my arm." she ordered.

He did as she asked, but looked at with a mix of bewilderment and fury. "I can't believe this."

"He was going to kill you."

He scoffed bitterly. "And you think I care--"

"And me and Van Pelt. You may not care about you, but I sure as hell care about me. And I sure as hell care about you and Van Pelt. You were not going to die. None of us where." Her voice softened as she looked back at her unconscious friend. "We're not."

For a moment, Jane couldn't find words. This was the exact reason why he hadn't wanted friends. Why he hadn't wanted to consider his co-workers as friends. He hadn't wanted people to care about or people to care about him because he knew this would happen. He knew that eventually Red John would catch up with him, and that he would be the cause of yet another death.

Knowing Lisbon would take care of Grace, he ran to the door to see if he could catch up to Red John. Maybe if he could--- "He's gone." She told him.

"You did you're job, Lisbon. Grace is safe. You're safe, but if you think I'm just going to let him get away--"

"You go after him, and Grace will die. He's supposed to send me a text in a about six minutes telling me what drug he gave Grace, but only if he doesn't think he's being followed. I've already called Minelli. Lied. But Grace needs us. And she needs you to stay calm."

_Calm_-- he scoffed bitterly. Calm. He didn't want to be calm. He wanted to bury his fist in any nearby wall or a serial killers face. He had been feet-- literally feet-- from the man who had butchered his family, and nothing. He had won again. "You let him go." his voice was part sad, part angry, and part understanding.

"And I'd do it again."

He choke back all of the things he wanted to say. He couldn't change things now. "It's ok." he told her, more for her benefit than his. He couldn't even make himself look at her in the eye.

"Jane--" she stopped. She didn't know what to say. He said exactly what she knew he would. What could she say to that?

"No," he held up his hands to halt her and smiled a very forced smile. "No. It's ok. I'll get him another time."

She started to say something else but instead said, "Thank God--" upon hearing the ambulance pull up in the driveway. With nothing else to do, Jane stood on the porch and motioned them inside. He moved aside as the two entered with their bags and gurney. From the corner of his eye, he saw Lisbon move and let one of the EMTs take her place. He heard her tell the EMTs that Grace had suffered slit wrists and had been given an unidentified drug. After that, he stopped listening.

He stood, looking away from them in silence. He knew deep down that Lisbon had done the right thing. She'd saved herself and Grace. Grace would probably live and that was all that mattered. He'd get another shot, and soon. Red John was playing with them, but he was also a creature of habit. He would go after Jason Copola. The cop who had so foolishly tried to frame him. Jane knew it. He'd be ready for him.

For the time being, however, there was a part (a deep part) that couldn't believe what had happened. He'd been so close to Red John. So close. And he'd gotten away... and Lisbon had let him. So he stood, arms crossed, with his back to the scene being angry, and yes a little ashamed, that in that moment, he couldn't bring himself to look at her.

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_A/N: Sorry that was so dark. I couldn't seem to make it any lighter. Also, thank you all for you reviews for last chapter. All mistakes are mine._

_Disclaimer: I don't own these characters... I just like to apparently torchure them._


	9. The Tangled Web We Weave

_A/N: Thank you for all of the reviews and support:) It's been great. As always, all mistakes are mine with this chapter, and I don't own anything. This chapter has some gore in it.. but not near as much as next chapter (I think)._

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Chapter 9: The Tangled Web We Weave

As promised, exactly ten minutes after leaving, Lisbon received a text message from Red John via Grace's cell phone. She relayed the name of the drug to the EMTs who acted accordingly. It wasn't a drug commonly used, but easily counteracted. Lisbon deduced that Red John hadn't intended to actually kill Grace, but if it happened, it would have been a happy side-effect. The purpose had been to play with Jane, and to get his message to Jason Copola. He didn't like being toyed with.

It was nearing one a.m. when Grace was finally loaded into the ambulance. The balding paramedic whose name tag read "Peterson" asked if anyone wanted to accompany her to the hospital. Lisbon regretfully declined even though she wanted desperately to go. Minelli had phoned her, very pissed, and very irate, ordering her to stay put. He would be there within the hour. Police were swarming all around the large house now and she was in charge, at least until Minelli came and fired her for the whole host of sins she had committed in the past hour.

Peterson then focused on the distressed looking man leaning against the front door frame. He non-verbally raised his eyebrow asking him the same question. It wasn't that Jane didn't want to go. Of course he wanted to be with Grace, but he wanted to go after Red John that much more. Not only had the bastard killed his family, now he was going after his frien... co-workers. He didn't have much of a head start and now that the EMTs had the name of the drug he'd used on Grace, nothing was stopping him. Nothing but the EMT asking if he wanted to go with the brutalized redhead.

At about the same time, two officers walked passed a statueisk Jane and entered the residence. He overheard one tell the other that they had found the SUV that Red John had used abandoned a few miles down the road. It had been reported stolen the day before. Forenzics would look at it shortly, but it didn't look promising. Jane knew there would be no prints, no hairs, no nothing. Red John was a ghost. Simple as that.

"Sir." the unfamiliar voice broke him from his swirling thoughts. "Sir, we have to go. Coming or not?"

"Yeah. Yeah, I'll go." he went down the steps quickly and jumped into the back of the waiting ambulance. Briefly, he looked back at Lisbon who was in the house where they had found Grace. The door was still open and he could still see the flurry of activity. She stood out, Lisbon did, in the sea of blue uniforms. Her green shirt tucked under her black jacket the only color that stood out. She was watching the ambulance, a sad somber look on her taunt face. He was sure he'd hurt her, accusing her of letting Red John go, which was true, but not fair to her. At the time, he'd been so selfish, so furious that he had wanted her to feel as bad as he had. Apparently, he'd done a good job of it. Her usually calm and composed exterior was gone, replaced by a look of doubt and uncertainty. Probably from knowing that Minelli would be there soon to more than likely chew her out for calling and saying that she had the plates wrong on Red John's SUV, then calling back later and saying she'd lied-- and probably because Jane hadn't spoken to her, not a word, since help arrived. It dawned on him, while sitting next to Grace in the back of the ambulance, that he hadn't even asked her if she was ok.

His attitude toward her softened as he looked into her eyes, and he reached for the ambulance door to give her some sort of parting assurance that he wasn't mad anymore and that she wasn't alone. Before he could, the ambulance began driving away.

Jane sighed at the lost opportunity and settled back down on his seat next to Grace. Whatever the EMTs were doing seemed to be working. Her color was coming back, if not just red and blotchy. With the blood transfusion they were planning when they got to the hospital, he knew it would come back more.

The paramedic, Peterson, cleaned her forearm with alcohol to give her another shot of something to help the pain. The sudden sharp prick made Grace's eyes fly open, and a primal scream to erupt. "Don't hurt me!" she cried. The memories of being drugged, hurt, humiliated were so fresh in her foggy mind. Past and present were running together and she wasn't sure if she was actually in an ambulance or at the hands of Red John. She tried and succeeded in raising her arms and hitting at the man hurting her. "Don't hurt me. Please don't--" she whimpered.

Jane leaned over and gently grabbed both of her bandaged wrists, careful not to apply pressure and hurt her more. "Grace, it's Jane. It's ok. I'm here with you. I'm going to let your wrists go, but you have to stop hitting at Mr. Peterson here. He is just trying to help you. You will stop, won't you." the last part wasn't asked as a question.

She nodded, reassured by Jane's voice, but still freaked out. A tear fell down her cheek, and Jane released her hands using one of his own to gently wipe it away. "You're gonna be ok, Grace. Mr. Peterson here is taking care of you."

He looked to the EMT for comfirmation. "That's right, ma'am." the middle aged man said calmly. "I just gave you something for the pain."

"I don't-- don't want-." she muttered, the drug already taking affect.

"It's ok. And I promise, I won't give you a shot or stick you or anything without telling you first. Deal?"

She nodded weakly, feeling lighter than she had felt throughout the night. It was strange not to feel pain especially when that was all she had felt for the past few hours. Her eyes slowly drifted closed and her head rolled over toward Jane.

"She's just sleeping." the EMT told him reassuringly seeing his reaction.

"Right. Yeah." Jane said, leaning down to her and whispering, "I won't let anyone hurt you again, Grace. I am so sorry. You have my word." He then leaned over and kissed her lightly on her forehead. The warmth wasn't something he was expecting. The last time he'd touched her, she was freezing. "She's burning up." Jane told the EMT, eyes wide with concern.

He nodded knowingly. "She's spiked a fever. We'll know more when we get to the hospital."

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_Interrogation Room, CBI Headquarters, Sacramento, California_

"What were you doing at Sarah Manning's house tonight?" Cho asked in his calm, steady voice. A stark contrast to what he was feeling on the inside. Inwardly, he wanted to beat the answers from the smirking man, get it over with, and get to the hospital to see Grace. Behind the two-way mirror, Wayne Rigsby stood, arms crossed, inhumanly still. Waiting.

Cho's companion in the room, Sam Dixon, wasn't being cooperative. Dixon was Jason Copola's partner on the force. Copola was the main suspect in the Suicide Murders, at least that's what they were being called now. If they didn't have anything on Copola, or Dixon, or even Red John in the next twelve hours, then the deaths would be considered a suicide. That didn't give them much time.

"That wasn't Sarah Manning's house, now was it?" the man replied in the answer a question with a question way that had become his norm.

"What do you know about the deaths of Faith Kingston, Caitlyn Robb, and now Sarah Manning aka Rose Anderson?"

"What am I supposed to know?"

"Mr. Dixon. You are making this harder on yourself."

"Harder on you, don't you mean, Agent?"

"If you don't cooperate, Mr. Dixon, I'll have you placed in a cell."

"For what? Not answering your stupid questions?"

"For breaking, entering, withholding evidence in a criminal investigation--"

"Or so you say."

The door to the room slammed open. Dixon didn't have time to react before he was yanked from his chair and thrown against the wall without any compassion. When his eyes finally fixed on what was happening, he saw that he was being held by a very large, very angry man. "Agent Cho. Help me." he begged no longer a 'tough guy'.

"Help with what? I don't see anything." Cho replied nonchalantly, rising from his seat and shutting the door.

"This is police brutality. You can't-- OW!" he bellowed as he head flew back into the wall.

"We don't have time for your bull right now." Rigsby's voice could have scared the devil. "Now, tell me what you know and how you know it before I get really pissed off."

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By 1:30 am, the investigation at Faith Kingston's house was beginning to wrap up. The entire place had been canvassed and no evidence had been found that there had been anyone there besides Grace, Jane, and Lisbon. For her part, Lisbon was speaking to the officers, asking them to check one more time. But her thoughts were at the hospital wondering how Grace was.

"Agent Lisbon."

The voice of her boss made her spin around. "Yes, sir."

"Quite a predicament we have here."

"Yes, sir." she answered before dismissing the officers surrounding her.

"Care to tell me again what happened?" he didn't seem as mad as he had on the phone, and she hoped and prayed that the drive out had mellowed him a little.

She took a deep breath and did just that. She wasn't sorry for what she did, helping Red John escape in order to save lives, but she was sorry that he had gotten away.... and gotten away with her gun.

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It was late, or early depending on how it was looked at, when he arrived home. Home was a two bedroom house he shared with his girlfriend, Kathy, and their dog Daisy. Kathy and Daisy were visiting her mom for the week, and he was glad. When she was away, he could do his work. His work was finished for the night and, like always, it felt good to again send another person to see their loved one. Sure, he felt bad for them, but bad for them because of the lies that the fake psychic had told them. Those lies had caused years of torment for them, even if they didn't know it. Living a lie was the worst type of torment, especially when you found out it was one. He was doing them a favor, something the psychic didn't.

He walked into his living room, heading for the lamp on the side table next to his black leather sofa. The house was dark, pitch black, but he'd lived there so long, been in the dark so long, that it no longer bothered him. He could navigate easily without missing a step.

That's why when he stumbled over something on the floor, it shocked him. He hadn't remembered leaving anything there. He quickly regained his balance and kept going. Surprised, he yelled in pain as he felt something long and sharp impale his foot through his shoe. He would find out later that it was a large nail that had been beaten in a board and placed there sharp end up (along with others strategically planted around the room) especially for him. The lamp light turned on, temporally blinding him. He hadn't done it and he wasn't ready for it. When he was able to focus from the light and the searing pain radiating from his foot, he saw a man sitting there on his couch under the light. The man was smiling a sick smile that made his stomach knot. "Who are you?" he demanded.

"You're a smart man, figure it out."

Before Copola could answer, he saw the gun. He heard the pop, and then he felt the pain. He clutched his leg where the bullet hit and fell to the nail filled floor where he was pierced and speared in various places. "What a tangled web we weave, Officer, when first we practice to deceive." _Bang_, another shot, this time to his right kneecap.

"I don't like being toyed with, Mr. Copola." Jason heard him say, though it sounded so far away. "Don't die on me yet. I have plans for you." Jason saw the man grab a black bag next to him and open it. He saw a video recorder being pulled out and pointed in his direction. "Now. Mr. Copola. Anything you'd like to say to Patrick Jane? Anything to get off of your chest?" he heard a chuckle then saw the red light of the camera flicker on.


	10. The Calm Before the Storm

_A/N: All mistakes are mine. This chapter (I don't think) is as gory as the last chapter. _

_Disclaimer: I don't own these characters. If I did, I'd probably treat them better._

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Chapter 10: The Calm Before the Storm

It had been about two hours since the ambulance had pulled up and the victim had been transported to the emergency room.

It had been about thirty minutes since the doctor had came out and told him that she would be fine, but that she needed lots of time to heal and maybe more blood transfusions. It would be a wait and see battle now.

It had been twenty minutes since he'd dialed her parents and quickly hung up. Bad news, more bad news for the family, could wait until the morning.

It had been fifteen minutes since she had been taken to a private room and left at the mercy of beeping machines and a hypnotic IV drip.

It had been five minutes since Cho had called saying that he and Rigsby would be there within in the hour to check on them. It had gone longer than expected interrogating Sam Dixon.

And it had been going on an hour and a half since he'd heard from Lisbon.

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_3:17 am_

Patrick Jane sat in the dim light of the hospital room, watching. It was what he did after all. Watched. Observed. Figured people out simply by studying their body language. If he were to read Grace right then, he would have said that she was a woman who probably should have died that night. The left side of her face was a collage of ugly blues and raised purples from the tip of her hair line all the way to her cheekbone. The doctor had known that he wasn't family upon arrival, but Grace had waken just long enough to give her consent for Jane to know about her condition. The doctor had informed him that she could have been much worse. No concussion. Wounds treatable. Slit wrists? Well, they would leave scars, but she'd gotten help in time. Thank God.

She would be ok.

So why did he feel like he wouldn't be?

He watched her as she slept. A mixture of emotions crept through him. He wanted to be there for her when she woke up because if not for him her sister would be alive and she wouldn't be in the hospital bed. Another part of him wanted to leave and go after Red John because he was so close. _So. Close. _But he had no idea where to start. Grace and Lisbon had been the only two who'd had any verbal contact with the serial killer on that night. He'd changed his game and now was unpredictable. Unpredictable and serial killer didn't go well together when you were the one trying to catch him.

When he thought of Lisbon, he felt sicker. The last time he saw her, she was all alone in the swarm of police blue, waiting for Minelli to come and 'talk'. It wasn't her fault. It wasn't.... not really anyway. He wanted to be there to tell Minelli that. That if she hadn't of let Red John go then he and Grace would be dead. She'd saved his life, and what had he done for her?

So many places to be.

He wanted to go to the house of Jason Copola, where ever that was, and beat the hell out of him. Jane wasn't a violent man by nature, but he felt he'd been pushed too far. He _knew _that Jason had killed those people... he _knew_ it. His trap had failed, though. And Sarah Manning had died. Jason deserved whatever it was coming to him. The bastard officer had used Red John up as a decoy and the latter hadn't taken it well. He could only imagine what the killer would do when and if he found him.

As he thought all of these conflicting things, he sat motionless, watching Grace's slow and steady breathing. The transfusion had worked as he had suspected and her color was coming back... whatever color could be seen behind the black and blue.

He heard a knock at the door, but didn't turn. It was probably just one of the nurses to take her vitals again.

"How is she?" Not a nurse... not a nurse by far.

"When did you get here?" he asked, not looking at his room companion. How could he?

"I just did. Minelli let me go a few minutes ago, and I came straight over."

"Oh, yeah." _Be calm. Breathe._ "How did that go?"

She shrugged, finally making her way into his peripheral line of sight. "Could've been worse. I'm on leave for two days."

"What? Why?" he asked, his voice louder than he meant, angered by the ridiculous nature of her being suspended. Grace's heart monitor quickened hearing his loud reaction. Instinctively, he rose and tried to get to her to calm her down. Lisbon beat him to it. "It's ok, Van Pelt. That was just Jane over-reacting." she shot him a dirty look. "It's ok now. You rest."

Jane sat back down in his seat and watched. That's what he did after all. Lisbon was standing in front of him, leaning over Grace's bed whispering something to her. Whatever it was worked because her heartbeat slowed back down to normal.

He saw her flinch when she raised up, and then he saw the tear in the back of her black blazer. "You're hurt." he raised up in his chair and, without asking permission, he lifted her jacket. She protested, but he didn't care. Her green shirt underneath was wet and sticky to his touch. It had been stained red with blood. He lifted that piece of cloth up and shuttered. In the small of her back, Lisbon had what appeared to be a 1/2 long gash. It wasn't deep and probably didn't need stitches, but still..... "He did this."

She jerked away, not wanting Jane to be that close to her. It made her feel too exposed, vulnerable. "I'm fine." she said.

"You're not--"

"I'm. Fine." she said more slowly and with more authority.

"He was going to kill you." he realized, his face whitening. How could he have missed that?

"He was going to kill us all." she answered as calmly as she could.

The man couldn't move for a second, couldn't take his eyes from hers. Finally, he got up, went to the door, and opened it wide. "We need a doctor in here!" he yelled to anyone who would listen.

Quickly, Lisbon slammed the door before he could say any more, praying that no one heard him. "I told you I'm fine. It's just a scratch."

"That is more than a scratch. He could have infected you with something. Something could have been on the blade, Teresa. He could have drugged you like Grace." His voice carried an urgency that she couldn't argue with, and a worry she'd never head from him before.

She froze, the reality of what he was saying sinking in. She had just been thankful that the steel hadn't met her innards, now Jane had put a new set of worries in her mind. It wasn't something she wanted to particularly think about. "I'll get it checked out later, ok?"

No, it wasn't ok. None of it was ok. He wanted to yell, beat the door, throw something, anything to release the insane anger swelling up inside him, but he didn't. He decided to let it stew... to take it out on the man who deserved it.

"Tell me everything he said to you." he relented, taking her by the forearms and staring directly into her eyes. Again, he didn't care that he was in her personal space. He didn't care. "Don't leave anything out. Red John is a man of riddles. Maybe he told you one and you don't realize it."

She did her best to compose herself with this side of Jane, the side she'd never seen. She thought back, trying to remember exactly what was said. "The last thing he said was 'Tell Jason Copola I don't like being toyed with. And tell Jane I said hi."

Lisbon knew that look. She hated that look. "I have to go." he said, releasing her, retrieving his jacket and moving back toward the door. Before he got to it, however, she was in front of him. "Where are you going?"

"Move." he demanded without any hint of the humor he normally put on words. "I stayed with Grace in the house. I stayed with her here. I didn't go after Red John like I damn well should have. Now you are here. You can take care of her. Let me go."

Seeing the fire in his eyes, she knew she couldn't stop him. "Just tell me that you have an idea where he is and I'll send back up."

"I have no idea where he is." She knew it was a lie, but also knew that she couldn't do anything about it. He walked passed her and out the door. Neither noticed that Grace had woken up just in time to hear the last part of their conversation.

"What was that about?" Cho asked, walking in after Jane had left. The blond had ran into him outside in the hall without saying a word and kept going.

Before Lisbon could answer, Rigsby ran in past them and settled down beside Grace's hospital bed in the chair recently occupied by Jane. "Hey." he said as softly as his hoarse voice would allow. "I'm sorry I'm late."

Drowsily, she smiled back, or at least she thought she did. She still felt funny, like it was all a dream. "Rigsby-- he's gone?"

"Who's gone?" he asked, lightly running his fingers through the red hair sprigs that had fallen haphazzardly across her bruised forehead.

"Jane." she replied weakly. "He's gone to go kill him."

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It wasn't particularly difficult to find Jason Copola's address. All it took was a call to Kelsey Evers, a CBI agent whom he had talked to on several occasions as they passed each other in the building most every morning. He was arriving about the time she was leaving. Kelsey worked at night, taking calls that couldn't wait until daylight. She was slightly short and a little chubby with hair as black as night save for the few blond highlights that surrounded her face. She had told him that it was natural and he tended to believe her. She was as nice as could be, and he had known that he niceness would come in handy some day. He just hadn't been sure when or how. It has only taken her seconds to find Copola's address.

It turned out that Copola's house wasn't located too far away from where he was. Within the hour, he was there, standing at the officer's front door. It was now almost 4 am.

The curtains weren't drawn.

Strange.

From his post, Jane could see one set of lights bellowing out from inside. Upon further inspection, he concluded that by the way the drapes looked, the lights were probably coming from the living room area.

He started to knock then intuition hit and he simply tried the knob. It was unlocked.

Interesting.

Patrick Jane didn't believe in guns. Well, he believed that some people should have them. He believed that cops should. Security guards. Soldiers. Convenience store workers. Men who were trespassing in a serial killers house. A man who was trespassing into a serial killer's house who was probably being held or stalked by another serial killer... definitely a reason to carry a gun. That's why he'd taken a cab home from the hospital to retrieve his own .45 before he went on his mission. It was the gun he'd imagined using on Red John for years. If his hunch was right, he'd be using it on him tonight... after the torture was over in any case.

Gun in hand, Jane entered the residence. "Mr. Copola?" He called. No need in hiding. He kept walking from the door way into a small foyer and then into the living room where the light had came from. The lamp light beside the black leather couch was on, the only light in the room. Jane halted, taking in every detail. It wasn't a large room, but definitely more than he assumed a cop could afford. Dirty side-job perhaps, or maybe a rich girlfriend? The room was very organized, save the tower of empty beer cans and adult magazines mounded on the coffee table. With this, Jane deduced that the wife/girlfriend/sugar-mama was out of town, had been for probably a few days, and since it didn't appear as he was cleaning yet, said woman wasn't expected back for a few days.

At the same time, two things caught his eye. The first was a red, gold, and black oriental rug that rested below the coffee table and to the couch. It didn't look like the rest of the room. It didn't fit with the flow. The room was very modern with black and silver touches with just the right about of homeyness. The rug was from some other time.. some other house... like it didn't belong... like it was covering something...

He reached down to look under it when the second thing caught his eye. A note on the DVD player sitting on a stand next to the large flat screen tv saying, "Play me."

Jane knew that the sign was for him as well as he knew his own name. He raised back up, walked to the DVD player, and pushed play......


	11. The Dead Men

_A/N: I'm going to go ahead and warn you. This is a very very dark chapter. House Calls, I toned it down, so you really don't have to see *all* of Copola's injuries. There will probably be two or three more chapters of this story (if you aren't grossed out or depressed too much by it). Not all of them will be this dark. All mistakes are mine. I don't own these characters, like I said before, that's probably a good thing. LOL I hope I don't run you off with this chapter..._

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Chapter 11: The Dead Men

Patrick Jane staggered back and sat down hard on the coffee table feet from the 52" flat screen. He had done what the note had asked. He had pressed play, and part of him really wished he hadn't.

It was like a car wreck. One of these horrific ones on the interstate where one car has been tossed around like a tin can and the other is so badly contorted it doesn't even look like a vehicle any more. He couldn't look away. He wanted too, well part of him wanted too. But he couldn't. He was drawn into what we being projected to him. He had to know what happened next.

On the screen in front of him laid the digitalized Jason Copola, bloody and panting on the floor. Jane's eyes instinctively went to the place where the rug was now. That's why it didn't look like it belonged because it didn't. It wasn't there on the tv. Jane knew it had been placed there to cover blood splatters. Perfect.

The officer was laying on the floor with dark scarlet rivers running from various points on his anatomy. Like he'd been gouged or poked with something sharp. But what could have done it in that many locations? His face was pale, sweaty, and contorted in agony. His legs..... even Jane had to look away when the camera panned down to the man's knees.... or at least what was left of them. The only way Jane could get his mind to register the visual was to think of shooting fish in a barrel, and how each would explode upon impact.

"Patrick Jane." The man on tv said through deep and shallow breaths. "I have a mess-- a message from the man you call Red John. He says that-- he says--" the man coughed and a crimson liquid trickled to the floor. "I can't do this." The camera flickered off and came back on. From the time stamp on the bottom of the picture, it was about a minute later. Jason was panting heavier now, a new blue bruise encasing his right eye. "Mr. Jane. Red John told me he would let me go if I did this _favor _for him. So-- so, I am. I'm confessing," he coughed again, his eyes rolling around in his head. "Confessing-- to killing those women. The Faith girl, the other two, the Manning girl tonight, the suicides. I-- I killed them. I couldn't let them think that what you-- told them was the truth. I couldn't--- have them believing your lies any more. So, I gave them what they-- what they really wanted. To be with their family. Red John had nothing to do with it. And for saying he did, I am sor-- sorry." Jason's eyes darted away from the camera and focused on a spot behind and up from it. "Is- is that good enough? Let me go now, ok?"

Again, the camera jumped, this time three minutes ahead. Jason was no longer in the living room. In fact, Jason was no longer on the screen. It was a picture of a piece of white paper with black letters that said simply, _**"Bedroom."**_

Jane stood, legs weak from watching what had happened to the officer, and started looking for any door that might lead him to the bedroom. He had his gun securely in hand. To the left of the living room was the kitchen. He dare not turn on a light for fear of luring Red John out of hiding prematurely. The lamp from the living room cast a very dim shadow in the room, enough for him to see the door across the way, and the butcher knife apparently waiting for him on the kitchen island.

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Grace began waking up more which meant she felt more pain. Rigsby had begged her to let them call the nurse for some pain medicine, but she vehemently declined saying that she'd been drugged enough for one night.

"So, does anyone know where Jane went?" Rigsby asked curiously, sitting on the side of Grace's bed.

"I told you." Grace answered annoyed that he hadn't remembered or believed her. "He's gone to kill him."

"Who?" Cho said, sitting backward in the chair at the foot of her bed. "Red John or the cop?"

"Both. Neither. I don't know." And she didn't. Her head hurt. Everything had happened so suddenly that night, but it also felt like it was the night that would never end. She'd waken in and out of consciousness, hearing different things. One of the things she heard was while she was in the hospital room. She's felt Jane gently rubbing her forehead and heard him tell her not to worry. That he'd take care of Red John and the man that killed her sister. There was no doubt in her mind that he had meant it. "Both." she answered now certain.

"What do we do, Boss?" Cho asked turning to Lisbon who was leaning against the wall behind him.

Lisbon had thought of nothing else since Jane had left the room earlier. She knew he'd had a hunch and she'd known that he'd probably find Red John, and therein laid her dilemma. She knew Jane as well as anyone could. He'd been consumed with revenge for the murder of his family for years, and who could blame him? Anyone in the exact same situation would think the same... but there was a difference between _thinking_ it, _planning _it as a way of coping, and actually _doing_ it. If Jane killed Red John then he'd go to jail: Do not pass go, do not collect $200. She'd never see him again except behind bullet proof visiting glass, and that scared her more than she thought it could. However, if she did interfere... if she did stop him, then for the second time that night, she would have let Red John go free and Jane would probably never forgive her.

"Boss?" Cho asked again, his brow raised. It wasn't like Lisbon to not answer him right away. To not know an answer. He understood as much as any of them, though. No one knew what the right answer was.

"You have to stop him." Grace said breaking the silence. "You have to stop him from killing those men."

"They deserve it." Rigsby pointed out, his voice dark. If he could kill Red John himself for what he did to Grace , he would. But since he couldn't, he'd be Jane's cheering section.

"Yes," Grace replied, gently placing her hand on his. "But Jane doesn't deserve to rot in prison for it."

Rigsby stood mesmerized by her. If he were in her shoes, he'd be foaming at the mouth, anxiously waiting the phone call saying those SOBs were dead. But not Grace. Grace was thinking about Jane. What was best for Jane. What Jane could live with... what she could live with. "You are an amazing woman." he said softly, then caught himself before he gave into the urge to kiss her marred cheek.

Grace smiled as best she could at him, and he maneuvered his hand around where he was holding hers instead of the other way around.

"So, what's the verdict?" Cho questioned.

"We don't even know where he went exactly." Rigsby put in.

"Oh, I know. I know exactly where he went." Lisbon said closing her eyes. Jane might not have said where he was going, but she knew him. She knew where he was. "Give him ten more minutes, then we'll go." She hoped it was the right answer.

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Flashes.

That was what his life was now.

Flashes.

Past and present mixing together.

Walking toward the bedroom door.

_Her room_.

His room.

All the same room.

_Upstairs._

Across the kitchen.

Same bad feeling.

_To the bedroom door._

To the bedroom door.

_White door._

Brown wooden door.

_His hand reached for the sliver knob._

The small oval knob.

_Dear Mr. Jane..._

No note... not this time. No--

_Open the door._

Open the door then---

Loud bang. Very loud. A gunshot.

_The red smiling face._

The same red face. This time mocking him from a mirror instead of the wall.

It was the first thing he saw when he entered the room. His eyes had found that when he'd opened the door. The first thing his ears heard was the gunshot. It took him a while before his head could understand what had happened. He didn't feel pain, so he knew he wasn't hit, and he knew he hadn't been the one who pulled the trigger. He dropped the knife and pulled out his own gun which he had tucked in his waistband before opening the door and quickly scanned the room. It was dark except for the light from a modern black and white lamp by the bedside. With it, he could see light and shadows across the room. Before he could register the scene, his eyes scanned the room and immediately saw the open window. The curtains billowed out from the outside breeze.

He was gone.

Cursing, he quickly ran to the window and watched as his own blue car drove off without him.

Jane slammed the window shut with intense anger. He slammed the gun down on the dresser under the smiley face and paced, running his fingers through his golden hair roughly. Grunting angrily, he threw a violent punch to the wall which left his own knuckles red.

Breathing in fast rigid breaths trying to compose himself, he finally went over to see if there was possibly any life in the officer tied to the bed. He couldn't image there would be.

Upon inspection of the room, he saw that the door had been rigged with a gun, probably Lisbon's, and pulley system to fire when it was opened. He supposed Copola had been laying there, mouth bound, crying silently in pain, praying that Jane didn't open the door. Red John had undoubtedly let him in on his little plan. Jane had opened it, and Copola had received a gunshot wound to the arm for his trouble. It was clearly a shot not intended to kill. So what was the reason? Copola's arms were shackled to the bedposts with handcuffs, probably his own. There was no need to tie down his legs. Walking to him, Jane felt for a pulse. Just as a formality. He jumped when not only did he feel a pulse, but the officer's eyes opened and began pleading with him. Startled, Jane pulled Copola's gag down and watched as the man spat out blood.

"Hel-- help me." he whispered between coughs. "Please."

Jane pulled out his cellphone, had his finger on the 9, then stopped. Was there a total difference between Jason Copola and Red John? Both were killers. Both hurt people he cared about. Both deserved to die. He had gone there to kill Red John like he had planned for five years. Copola too if needed for killing those women and bringing with him the wrath of Red John. Red John was gone. Why did he have to save this bastard who was pretty much already dead anyway? Dead like he was on the inside. He had to laugh to himself. So many dead men in that room.

"You killed those women." he said, holding his phone indecisively.

Jason nodded, tears spilling from his swelling eyes. "I did them a favor. You hurt them. It's your fault." Funny how he didn't stutter any of that out. Jane smiled darkly, closed his phone, and began walking away. "Wha-- what? Come back."

"I'm doing you a favor." he shrugged not looking back. He heard Copola whimpering behind him, but didn't care. He couldn't get Red John not on that night, but he damn well needed some vengeance from someone. Maybe he'd lose some of himself letting Copola die, but he didn't care at the moment. There wasn't much left anyway. Jason would die either way, either in that bed or in prison. What did it matter? Give the tax payers a break as it were. On the back of the bedroom door in the faintest of light and written in red was the word _Murderer. _Next to it was another smiley face. This one's grin seemed to be broader like it was laughing at him, pleased with him.

Red John was playing him. Seeing what he'd do.. _knowing_ what he'd do. Probably showing him that they weren't all that different: he and Jane.

Not stopping to do anything else, Jane exited the room and walked out of the house.

So many dead men.


	12. The End of Days

_A/N: All mistakes are mine. I'm not entirely sure what to say about this chapter except for it's not gory... disturbing possibly, but not gory. I don't own these characters. Grace probably really appreciates that right about now LOL_

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Chapter 12: The End of Days

It was raining again. Rain two times in one week in sunny CA was, to some, a sign of the Apocalypse. For Patrick Jane, it simply meant he was getting wet.

It was nearing 5 am, still plenty of darkness left in the night. Sunrise wouldn't be for a few hours. A sunrise that would be marred if the rain didn't stop before then.

He walked down the street, passing homes of families sleeping soundly in their beds, dreaming their sweet dreams. Totally unaware that a few houses down a man lay dying in his own bed, and another serial killer had been frolicking among them.

He'd been one of them before: unaware family man, not murderer. The title "Murderer" was something he'd just recently acquired. Family was something he used to have. He remembered back to a time when he tucked his daughter into her bed, kissed her softly on the forehead, and beamed brightly at his blond angel begging for just "one more story." There had never been time for that story. Never. Every single night he told her no with the promise of, "Maybe tomorrow night." And she'd smile the trusting smile of a child. There never was a doubt in her mind that he'd keep his word. The next night he might be home, or he might be in Santa Monica doing a reading for a rich barbie wannabe. Didn't matter where he was, that story never got read. Now he couldn't even remember what her favorite was. The one with the mouse? No. The one about the sparkly fish?

The rain fell down in even sheets, not to hard but definitely not drizzle. Jane paid no attention to it as he kept walking down the yellow lines in the middle of the street. He was lit on both sides by the evenly spaced streetlights. There were no cars passing which was odd for the small cluster of houses but not unheard of. Eventually one would come, and Jane wasn't completely convinced he'd move when it did.

He was dressed now water logged black pants. His matching vest had been discarded at Grace's sisters house, used as a tourniquet of sorts. His white button up and t-shirt underneath were nearly see through from the rain. He still had few red stains on it from various encounters with blood that evening. In summary, he looked like a lost lamb running from slaughter.

What had he done?

The world a favor, that's what he'd done. The cop was dirty. The cop had killed. The cop had hurt Grace and her family. The _cop_ got what he deserved. He didn't feel bad about it. He didn't. He couldn't.

He only wished he'd gotten Red John in the deal. Instead, Red John got his car, and probably the privilege of watching him sloshing in the unusual California rain. He was probably hiding somewhere in the shadows laughing. That's what hurt the most. The thought of him laughing.

He didn't notice the headlights at first. He was too lost in his own thoughts. When they got closer, he looked up through the rain and slowed his pace. The vehicle, an SUV, stopped a few feet from him and for a second he wondered if it was the same one Red John had used at Grace's sister's house. Knowing that was impossible since it was impounded, he continued walking slowly down the middle of the street, rain saturating his hair and clothes.

The door to the black SUV opened and out jumped a figure from the passenger side. He couldn't see who it was clearly between the rain and the shadows. When the figure started toward him, he knew instantly. Short. Medium hair to the shoulders.

"Lisbon." he said almost too politely for her comfort. It was said with a smile. A fake, plastered on smile, but a smile none-the-less.

"Jane." she said stopping inches from him as the SUV sloshed past them and continued toward Copola's house.

"It's raining."

"So I noticed. Why aren't you driving?"

He shrugged. "Gotta have a car for that."

She started to ask what had happened when he surprised her by gently reaching up and placing a strand of soaking brown hair behind her ear. God, he had to just to touch something... alive. Something warm. Something not dead like he was. He wanted to grab her. To hold her and sob into her hair, but he didn't. He controlled himself because it wouldn't be fair to her. She deserved better than a man who'd done what he'd done that night. Someone who would at least feel remorse for it. He took his hand away from her and placed it back into his pant pocket. It felt cold again.

"Come on." she said instead of any of the questions swarming her mind. "Cho and Rigsby have gone on to Copola's house."

"They're too late."

"Why? Did you find him? Did Red John already kill him?"

"He's already dead." he answered evading specifics.

She sighed heavily. "Damn it. Let's go." She pointed in the direction of the house two blocks down and lead him that way. Both were soaked with rain, but neither said a word. What was there to say?

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Copola's door was wide open when Cho and Rigsby arrived. Rigsby had reluctantly left Grace's side when the boss had said it was time to go. Grace said she was tired anyway and wanted to sleep. She assured him that no one would try to get her at the hospital. He still didn't want to leave, but she had persuaded him. She could be very persistent.

With guns drawn, Cho entered the house first followed by Rigsby. The foyer was slick from the rain blowing in, but other than that, not a sign of any struggle. Nothing out of the ordinary. Rigsby went to the right and Cho to the left finding himself in the small but neat kitchen area. Directly in front of him was an open door. "Rigsby! In here!" he yelled to his partner, running cautiously into the room. Rigsby entered in time to see Cho checking the pulse of a man who looked like he'd seen better days. "Call 9-1-1." Cho ordered.

"Why? He's dead, isn't he?" he said, instantly recognizing him as the cop.

"He has a pulse." Cho said with more force than normal. "He needs help."

Rigsby didn't move. Not even a muscle. "Rigsby. Call."

"He killed Grace's sister." he answered straight forward. He didn't want to help the bastard.

Cho looked up from the victim. "_You_ are not his judge, and _you_ are not his jury. Yes, he deserves to die, but even Grace didn't want it. Make the call."

Reluctantly, Rigsby pulled out his cellphone and dialed. He told the operator who he was, where he was, and that they needed an ambulance immediately. He slammed his phone shut and began examining the room. His hands placed firmly on his hips and his jaw tightly clinched. "Think Jane did this?" He stopped, motioned at the dent in the wall filled with little flecks of red, and then back to the dying man on the bed.

"Not all of it. No." Cho answered, trying to figure out what he should do for the dying man. Deciding the best course of action, he started looking through his nightstand drawers until he found the man's handcuff keys. He opened his right one first causing his arm to fall lifelessly on the bed. Same for the other.

"If he's not dead, he will be soon." Rigsby observed from the closed window as he looked out over the glistening street.

"Not for us to decide, man."

They heard footsteps entering the house and then one set of them coming toward where they were. "What do we have?" the female voice called from the bedroom door. First, her eyes went to the smiling face on the mirror. Second to the victim lying on the bed. "Dead?" she asked Cho. It wasn't really a question. After all, Jane had said--

"No. Alive, but just barely."

Her brow furrowed confused. "But Jane said--" she paused.

"Jane said what?" Rigsby questioned with interest.

"Nothing. Did you call 9-1-1.?"

"Yeah, they will be here shortly." He left the part out where Cho made him call. No sense in his boss knowing that.

"Ok. Cho, keep an eye on Copola. Rigsby, look over the room. Take notes and pictures on your phone before the EMTs get here and clutter things up. I'm going to have a talk with Jane."

"We'll do boss." Rigsby said as she was already leaving the room. He walked over the Cho and whispered. "Still think Jane had nothing to do with this?"

Cho had no reply.

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She found Jane where she'd left him, sitting on the black leather couch in the living room. He was dripping wet head to toe, making the couch less than dry. He stared straight ahead and didn't look at her when she entered. She figured he hadn't even heard her. "Come with me." she insisted, offering her hand to help him up.

He hesitated, but finally took it. No sense in dripping everywhere. The cop's family might want to sell the couch to make some money now that he was dead. He figured the black leather monster was more Copola's taste than any woman's. It was when Jane took her hand that she saw the blood on his knuckles. Deciding it wasn't the time, she didn't say a word. She lead him outside and sat down on the three steps which lead into the house. It was still raining, but the steps had a small overhang over it which blocked most of the dampness. "Jason Copola's not dead."

"Damn." he said under his breath, looking away from her and deeper into his own thoughts on how he was going to handle the situation.

"You said he was."

"Yes."

"You thought he was?"

"I hoped he was-- would be-- by the time you got here." He raked the blond curls that had matted to his forehead from the rain away.

"You left him like that?" it wasn't accusing and it wasn't bashing. It void of emotion all together. She worked hard for it to come out that way.

He nodded. "I walked in. Red John left me a DVD to watch, so I did. It said go to the bedroom. I did. There was a gunshot."

"Gunshot?"

"He rigged the door. Copola got shot in the arm. He was unconscious at the time so I didn't think he'd mind. The window was open. I went to it and saw my car being driven away."

"By Red John?"

"By Red John." he sat very still, his hands clasped in his lap.

"Then what happened?"

He looked at his right hand. The knuckles red and bruising. "I got mad." he stated simply. He finally looked at her direction, but not in the eyes. He took a very deep breath. "I went over to Copola, knowing he was a dead man because, well, you saw him. Then I checked for a pulse. He had one and he looked at me. I pulled his gag down."

"And?"

He hesitated for a moment, trying to decide how much to tell her. Finally he asked, "Are you my friend Teresa? Or are you Senior Agent Lisbon right now?"

"Both." she said honestly.

"Fair enough." and it was, but he really wished he could speak to her off the record. On the record might not be such a good idea, but really, what did he have to lose? "He asked me to help him."

"He talked to you?"

"Yes."

"And you called 9-1-1?" she asked. But the look on his face made her hope fade.

"I started to. But he confessed to killing those women. He said he did it because of me and that he was doing them a favor."

"And what did you do?"

"I did him a favor." His words had bite. For the first time, he looked directly into her eyes. The intensity he held them with was fiery.

"Wha--"

"Boss." Cho cut her off, coming out of the house to meet them. "Copola's dead."

Lisbon cut back to Jane who was now looking at the rain splatter on concrete. "Thanks. The EMTs will be here in a few minutes. Go back in and help Rigsby."

Cho looked to both Lisbon and Jane, said nothing, and went back to work.

"Doesn't look good, does it?" Jane asked, smiling a little. Strangely, it felt good to know that the man was actually gone. He wondered if that made him a monster.

"No." she answered truthfully, standing to get out her phone. "You left him to die."

"Yes."

"God, Jane. Do you realize the position you've put me in?"

He wanted to ask her what she was going to do, but the words wouldn't come out. He thought he had nothing. No one to care about what he'd done. No reason to not go to jail. But seeing her, now. Seeing the anger, the fear, the disappointment in her eyes. He realized he did care. It was just too late now.

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At the hospital, Grace tried to sleep. Every way she turned, however, hurt in some form. If she laid on her right side, her IV pulled. If she laid on her left, her face hurt. Laying on her back felt strange because she'd always been a stomach sleeper. Finally, she guessed she must have drifted off because she started dreaming.........

_She was at the carnival. A big one. Back home in the Midwest. Huge rides like the Ferris Wheel and the big giant swinging boat towered in the skyline. She began walking down the midway toward a large of crowd of spectators. Jane was there, standing on a stage in front of a crowd of people. He was grinning ear to ear, obviously enjoying himself. When he saw her through the crowd, he motioned for her to come on stage. She declined shyly, but the persistent sad begging from him and the way the crowd pushed her forward made his request hard to ignore. The next thing she knew she was on stage next to him. He looked happy, very happy. He looked the way he had on the tape from his show she'd watched not two days before. His hair was slicked back, not curly like she liked. His suit and tie were white like an angel or a deceptive devil._

_He turned his back to the audience, took her forearm possively, and leaned over to her. "Play along Grace." he whispered smoothly in her ear before pulling away and acknowledging the audience. "What is your name?" he said loudly enough for the crowd to hear._

_She froze for a minute, knowing he already knew it. He'd called her Grace hadn't he? She met his eyes and heard the words **Play along** in her head. "My name is Grace." she replied._

_His grinned brightened. "Grace. What a beautiful name. Grace, have we ever met before?"_

_"No--No." she lied playing along like he'd asked._

_"And do I know you?"_

_"No." That wasn't a completely lie. He really didn't know everything about her even though he liked to think he did._

_"Then Grace. Would you mind taking my hand in yours, closing your eyes, and relaxing?"_

_"Why?"_

_He grinned. "Trust me. I won't hurt you. _I won't let anyone hurt you again, Grace_." the way he said it echoed how he'd said it in the ambulance._

_Without knowing why, she took his hand and did as asked. With eyes closed, she felt him rubbing her hand gently. Felt him moving the other hand around her face. Felt him as he leaned in close, so close she thought for a second he was going to kiss her. His lips skirted hers and rested on her ear lope. "You're gonna die tonight, Grace." she heard first in Jane's voice.. _then in _his_.

_And then she felt the choking..._ the air being cut off and squeezed out of her.

She woke startled from her dream to see the man standing over her, his gloved hands wrapped around her throat. Terror struck as she realized she recognized her attacker. He squeezed tighter as he leaned down just as Jane had done in her dream and whispered, "You have Jane to thank for this."

He was going to kill her. She knew he was. She also knew she wasn't going to let him. Struggling for air and anything she could, she finally reached for a water pitcher on the tray next to her table and slammed it into the man's head. He staggered back long enough for her to rip out her IV, wince in pain, and jump out of bed screaming for help. She opened the door and ran to the nurses station where they were already standing alerted by her screams. "He's there! He's in there!!" she yelled pointing to her room.

"Who?" the head nurse asked alarmed. Grace didn't think to notice her name tag. If she had, she would have saw her name was Misty Dixon.

"Red John! Call security now."

The nurse didn't hesitate and did as told. Grace eased herself down the wall and settled on the floor near hyperventilation. Clad in her white hospital gown with a delicate blue design, she drew her legs to her and held herself tightly. She watched as a security guard walked in from the double doors at the other end of the hall, entered her room, and a few second later walked out again. She hoped she'd knocked that SOB out cold. The closer he got, the more clearly she saw his expression. The guard eyed her with pity and went to talk to the nurse who had called him. The nurse thanked him and went over to Grace. "Ms. Van Pelt."

"Is he unconscious?" He'd have to be.

The nurse's dark hair feel into her eyes as she leaned down to Grace's eye level. She placed it back behind her ears and said, "There was no one there."

Grace's eyes widened. "What? No. There was. He was there. He tried to kill me. See?" she pointed to her neck where she knew the blue and purple bruises were beginning to form

The nurse gently took Grace's hands and held them in her lap. She felt sorry for the woman. She knew what had happened to her sister a few days before and then to her that night. Anyone would have snapped. Anyone. "It was just a dream, ma'am. Hunter didn't see anyone."

"Well tell _Hunter_ to look again." she answered, visibly distraught.

"You've been through a lot."

"I know what I saw!"

"You are going to wake other patients." This time she admonished. She felt for the woman, she really did. But her shift would be over in two hours and then she'd have to go home and deal with her husband.. her no good husband, Sam, who had been arrested earlier that night for breaking and entering. He was a cop for Heaven's sake. Why had he needed to break and enter? Her plate was full, and while she had compassion, she also had a short fuse.

"I don't care!" Grace yelled standing, running back to her room. She'd show her. She'd _show_ her she wasn't crazy. "I _saw_ him. I _saw _Red John."

"You must have been having a nightmare." the nurse said, using as much calmness as she could muster.

"No-- I mean, I was, but I didn't do this to myself." Again, she motioned at her neck.

"See, no one here." Misty said, looking around the room. Grace did her own sweep and concluded the same thing.

"He must have ran. He must have gotten away."

"Come now, Ms. Van Pelt. Get back in the bed. Things will look better in the morning." Misty held the covers up for her as she slid back into bed. Panic stuck once her head hit the pillow. She couldn't breathe, just feel his hands around her neck, squeezing, draining her life away. "I can't. I can't breathe." she tried to get up, to run away, do something. But the nurse held her down. "Ms. Van Pelt. Grace. Calm down. No one is going to hurt you."

She would have answered if she could, but the supposed lack of oxygen was preventing her. She slapped at the nurse to make her move... to just let her go. The nurse, not taking that act of violence well, hit the on call button and demanded... _something_. Grace couldn't understand her. It was like she was in a fog. Fighting to get free.

Moments later, the door opened again and three men in white uniforms entered with another man holding a syringe. "Grace, this is just to calm you down. You're in shock, honey. We don't want to hurt you."

Grace heard none of it. All she saw was the needle, and all her mind could think about was Red John. How he'd tormented her. Used her. Drugged her. "Stay away from me." she demanded in terror. "Stay away." She felt like her heart would beat out of her chest and she pushed at the nurse with all her might. She was able to get out of the bed before she was grabbed by an orderly and placed back down on the bed. He didn't hurt her, but in her mind, he might as well had. She cried and pleaded, but they didn't stop. And she couldn't hear them saying that they weren't going to hurt her from the sound of her heart beating in her ears.

It finally took three orderlies and four padded restraints to hold her down long enough for the doctor to give her the shot. It didn't take long before she succumbed to the drug. Her body stopped fighting and she fell asleep......

In her sleep, she dreamed. _She was back at the carnival, back on stage with the smiling Patrick Jane. This time she was tied to a bed, and Jane, now looking like the Jane she knew with curled hair and gray three piece suit with a light blue shirt underneath, was just standing out of the way. Watching. She saw another man walking toward her, now with a face that she recognized. He wore all black, save a red smiling face on his shirt._

_Staring at her._

_She tried to scream for help, but was unable. Her eyes pleaded with Jane, but he only crossed his arms and grinned clearly interested in what was happening. His eyes twinkled the way they did when he was observing and learning. _

_She didn't understand his uncaring demeaned. He _knew_ him. He _knew _the bastard who was coming after her_. _She knew he did, but he wasn't going to stop him. It made no sense._

_He was coming for her, walking purposefully. His own smile illuminating his face. As he got closer, her eyes pleaded with Jane more. All she got in response was a wink._

_The man, Red John, pulled out a knife and jammed it into her arm._

She found her voice then and let out a primal yell.


	13. The New Set of Problems

Chapter 13: The New Set of Problems

The rain slacked off some as a swarm of blue buzzed around Officer Copola's home. Jason had been, for all intensive purposes, a good cop. No one had a bad word to say about him, but that was what normally happened when one died. No one wanted to say an ill word. No one wanted to tempt God that way.

Being as it was her case, and seeing as her suspension didn't take effect until 8 am that morning, Lisbon was in charge of the scene. It was her second of the night and fatigue was starting to set in. She stood outside of the house just behind the "Do Not Cross" tape, talking to some officers and telling others to make sure the scene stayed secure. Satellite trucks from all three local networks were parked just beyond her. Someone had leaked the words, "Dead Cop. Red John. And the infamous Patrick Jane." And they all came swarming.

Similarly, the entire neighborhood had came out it seemed to see what the excitement was about. From the brief statements gathered from the neighbors, it was clear that Jason hadn't been as highly esteemed as a neighbor as he had as a cop. His girlfriend, Kathy, had been notified and was on her way as had his father. It was his father coming that worried Lisbon.

Minelli phoned and said he'd be there by 6:30. It was 6:14 a.m.. Things were being taken care of. The scene was secure and procedure was being followed.

For the most part.

Inside the house was as busy as the outside. Police dusted for prints. Photographers snapped pictures of the living room, the drying blood under the rug, the kitchen, the bedroom. The head of the city PD was there and had asked Cho and Rigsby a few questions. Cho answered with yes or no answers, and Rigsby pulled the rank card. The camera flashed on the dead man's bed then on the dresser which had the first red face. It captured the fact that Jason had a few trinkets on top: a watch, cologne, a vase of flowers probably set there by the girlfriend. Nothing else. Nothing out of the ordinary.

As the police and CSI did their jobs, Rigsby headed out through the kitchen, living room, and to the bedroom straight on the other side of it. This was more of a guest room. The walls were toupe like the other, but the bed wasn't slept in, and didn't have a dead man in it. Only Jane.

Before the city police had arrived, Jane had been instructed by Lisbon to sit in there, stay out of trouble, and not talk to anyone. He complied only because he didn't really want to talk to anyone, and the room was a nice place to rest and relax. He was laying on the bed when Rigsby entered. Jane's arms were stretched over his head, his wet shirt discarded on the floor. He wore a light blue one now, one of Cho's extras that had been left in the SUV from an overnight stakeout a few weeks before. It was a little big on him, but it fit, and Jane liked that it had long sleeves, not the type Cho usually wore.

Jane heard Rigsby enter the room and shut, but didn't open his eyes. Playing opossum.

"Jane. Wake up." Rigsby whispered, eyes darting around to make sure no one was in there with him.

Jane felt the mattress sink beside him and roused up. He sat back on the iron headboard and placed his hands on his lap. "What do you want?" He didn't say it annoyed, but that was actually how he felt.

Rigsby sighed and reached back behind his back under his coat. He found what he was looking for tucked inside his belt loop and showed it to him. "This yours?" he asked, showing Jane the gun he'd "removed" from the dresser top in Copola's bedroom.

Surprised, Jane hesitated and finally shrugged. "Don't do me any favors."

"I'm not. He deserved to die and I'm glad he is. I just don't want you to go down for whatever part you had in it."

"There is more evidence in that room that I was there besides my gun." he replied stating the obvious. He grinned slightly, however, at how Rigsby was trying to take care of him, not that Rigsby wasn't using him to his own end as well, but still... it meant something. He decided he had sorry timing when it came to the 'realizing that people actually cared what happened to him' department.

"Maybe." Rigsby went on. "But without this they can't say that you came here to kill Copola. You just found him already dead."

"Did I?"

"Yes." he leaned closer and whispered. "Cho thinks I called 9-1-1 when he said, but I only pretended. It was only after the bastard died and Cho went out to talk to Lisbon that I did. Help was never on its way."

Jane studied him for a minute. His eyes were dilated. His forehead clammy. He was a man who was about to lose control. Jane understood what it how it felt when someone hurt someone you loved. He understood Rigsby's grief and anger over Grace. But still.. he couldn't throw his life away for it. Inwardly, Jane laughed at the irony of that statement. "If Lisbon finds out about this-- if they check phone records--"

"They won't. The time difference wasn't that much. He was practically dead anyway. I just-- helped him along."

Rigsby's words mirrored Jane's prior thoughts. Still, it was different when it was you thinking it and when you were watching someone else going down the same dark path. Part of Rigsby's childlike innocence would be gone forever. Jane could tell by his eyes. Rigsby would never be the same. Same as him... Another dead man.

He started to say thanks for bringing his gun when he cell rang. "Hello?... Yes...... Oh... Ok. Yeah... I'll be there as soon as I can." He hung up and got off of the bed. He grabbed his discarded black coat and white shirts from the floor. "I've got to go."

"Something bad? Is it Grace?"

"I'll be back when I can." he answered evading the question. "I'll let Lisbon know so she doesn't freak out on me." He went to the door and with his hand on the handle, turned back to face Rigsby. "Thanks-- for everything."

"No problem. I have your back, especially when it comes to this." Rigsby replied, shoving the gun back behind his jacket in his belt loop, knowing that Jane couldn't be caught with it.

The blonde smiled, nodded appreciatively, and left.

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It took some maneuvering on his part to talk Lisbon into leting him go without actually telling her where he was going. But, thankfully, she wanted him to get away from the crime scene before Minelli got there with the DA and started asking questions. She made him promise that he would meet Cho at the station at 9 to give his statement. Using his skills, Jane left the scene unnoticed by the camera crews and walked half a mile away before calling for a cab.

It was a little after 7 when he walked into the hospital and found the psych ward. It wasn't the same hospital he'd been during his break with sanity, but as with most hospitals, it looked about the same. Finding the nurses station quickly, he asked the woman behind the desk where Grace Van Pelt was. The woman had long red curly hair and green eyes which complimented her pink scrubs perfectly. She was one of those redheads who could wear pink. She pointed him in the direction of room 314, but instructed that Grace's doctor, Dr. Reed, wanted to speak to him before he went in. She paged the doctor then pointed Jane in the right direction again. Dr. Reed met Jane about halfway down the hall and fell in step next to him. "Mr. Jane?"

"Dr. Reed." he accepted the man's hand. "How is she?"

The doctor ran his fingers through his balding salt and pepper hair. He was shorter than Jane by about two inches and wore wire rim glasses. "She's resting-- finally. We had to give her a sedative and she's slept for an hour."

He wanted to ask what happened, but decided to ask Grace herself. He knew when he was in her situation the worst part was that people forgot that he was still human. Still capable of emotions, feelings, and answers. Sometimes it was just harder to find them that was all.

"She insisted, pleaded actually, that we call you instead of her parents." the doctor went on as they stopped in front of her door. "She said that they were still dealing with so much from her sister's death that she didn't want them to see her in here. Her sister's body was sent back to Iowa for burial, and she didn't want her parents to have to come here and miss Faith's funeral. Worry about her, you know? Your name was the only other name on her contact list." Jane nodded, thinking back to the ambulance ride in and Grace having the ER doctor add him. At the time, he had no idea that it would lead him here.

"Can I see her now?" Jane asked, hand already on the door handle.

"Yes, just be gentle with her. She's near her breaking point. Any little thing--"

"I understand." Jane cut him off and entered the room without another word to the doctor.

The light above her bed was turned on. The dim yellow encompassed the room. It was a room like all others in the hospital, not like his when he was committed. His had been white walls, white bed.. in fact, at the time, he wasn't completely sure he'd be able to look at white again. This room was a warm rose color as best he could see. It had a small window near the window. Big enough to let some natural light in when the sun was up, far enough up and small enough for patients not to jump from.

Grace was laying in the hospital bed which was against the wall on the left side of the room. To her right was a chair, but other than that the room was empty. There was a door to the bathroom, but nothing else hung on the wall. A stand for a TV was there, but empty. He assumed whomever had been housed in the room before her was so much a danger that the staff had taken it out for precaution.

He slowly walked to her and sat down in the chair next to the bed. She was awake, but not lucid. She was staring at the ceiling, eyes focused on something he couldn't see. She wore a pink shirt and pants instead of the hospital gown she'd worn the last time he saw her. Another redhead that could wear pink. Her hands and legs were restrained on the bed with padded straps. "Grace." he said softly, leaning toward her.

"Hi." she said, surprising him. He didn't think she'd be able to answer.

He smiled back. "Hi. How are you?"

She laughed like that was the funniest and most ironic question ever. "I'm just peachy." she replied, not taking her eyes from the ceiling. "Thank you for coming."

"Anytime. Is there anything you need?"

It was that question that made her turn to him and a silent tear drip from her eye. She pulled at her arm strap pitifully and said, "Get them off. Please. I don't like being tied down."

"Grace--"

"Jane, please!" she yelled without warning, causing him to rise to her and gently stroke her hair. "If you don't calm down, the doctor will be back in here. He will give you something else. Do you understand me? Say yes."

"Yes." she said, letting her arm fall with defeat.

"Good." he proceeded to sit down next to her on the bed. He would have taken her hand, but figured being touched was the last thing she'd want. Instead, he just started talking. He made a mental note to be 'smiling happy Jane' because that's what Grace needed.... not that he felt it. He'd been a showman after all, and acting was part of it. He'd have been a great actor. "I see you have some color back."

She smiled weakly.

"Tell me what happened."

"You won't believe me. They don't believe me."

"I'm not them. I'm me. I'll believe you. I will, but you have to tell me what happened."

She considered for a moment then answered. "I saw him."

"Who?"

"Red John." she said like it was the most obvious answer ever.

"Where?" The mention of his name made his heart beat faster and his adrenaline rush.

"In my room. He attacked me."

"Are you hurt?" He asked, looking her over.

"Just these." she answered turning her neck up for him to see the bruises.

He looked hard, but couldn't see anything. No skin discoloration or bruises. "Then what happened?" he asked, not sure what to think about her story.

She stared at him, reading his poker face. "You don't believe me either."

"I didn't say--"

"You didn't have too. It's written all over your face. You're just like them." she said _them_ like it was the worst curse word ever invented.

He knew he had two options. He could either indulge her. Tell her he saw marks that clearly were not there to make her feel better. Or he could tell her the truth. The truth would sting, but he knew she could handle it. She'd have to. So, even though the doctor told him to be gentle, he decided on truthfulness over comfort. "There aren't any marks, Grace."

Her response was to not give one. Her face remained blank.

"On your neck." he clarified. "There are no marks. No fingerprints."

When what he has said hit her, she shook her head slowly at first then with more vigor. "No. I feel them. I feel them, Jane. He was here....there.. in the room with me. He was. He tried to kill me." She was getting agitated, fighting against the restraints that held her down. Jane tried to calm her because he knew what she was going through. Restraints and straight jackets weren't all that different. "Get them off!" She begged again fighting the shackles.

He was afraid of losing her. He was afraid that this environment would make her break, send her into collapse. He did all he knew to do. "Grace. I want you to look at me. Look at my eyes." he made an imaginary circle around where he wanted her to focus. "Breathe deeply. Keep looking."

"But--" she was going to tell him that she had recognized Red John... that Jane would recognize him if he saw him, but he forcefully cut her off. "No. Just look and breathe." He followed with a series of deep breaths. "Look and breathe." She obeyed. _Look and Breathe. _"That's a girl. Just look at me and breathe." When he was satisfied that she was calming he said, "Now.. I believe you. I believe that Red John was in your room. Tell me everything that happened."

She didn't want to tell him. Didn't want to hurt him. She broke down and a silent tear streamed down her face causing her to turn her face away from him with embarrassment. It broke his heart. Grace-- his friend. Tied to a bed in a mental hospital because he had pretended to be psychic all those years ago. It all went back to that night. His first taping when he felt invincible. Now look. People he cared about hurt. Co-workers breaking the law for him. Innocent people dead. It was all too much to handle.

But he knew he had to because if he didn't, he would end up in a room like Grace's, and he'd sworn that would never happen again.

He reached over to take her chin and gently guide it back to him when the door opened and in walked Dr. Reed. He instantly saw Grace distressed. "Mr. Jane. I told you not to upset her." he chastised.

"She was already upset. Didn't you read her file? She was handcuffed to a staircase while a madman did God knows what to her. She comes to the hospital, thinks she's finally safe, then gets attacked again and chained back down to a bed. I can see how she would be a little upset and quite frankly a little less than sane right now, can't you?"

The doctor's face reddened, but he didn't use the same bitter tone answering as Jane had. "Mr. Jane. There was no one in Ms. Van Pelt's room."

"And you're sure. No witnesses. No camera."

"There aren't any cameras on that hall."

Jane smiled, his mood dark. "Isn't that convenient?"

"I'm afraid I'm going to have to ask you to leave now."

Jane ignored him, instead looking down at Grace who was still crying quietly, eyes fixed on him. "Get them off. Please. Jane. Please."

It was breaking his heart. "Take them off of her." he demanded Dr. Reed.

"Mr. Jane, they are for her own good--"

"It wasn't a request. Take them off of her now." The last sentence was spoken with slow venom.

"Mr. Jane." Dr. Reed said more forcefully yet with a hint of professional cockiness. "Thank you for coming when you were called. However, you are not Ms. Van Pelt's parent, husband, nor guardian. You have no rights here."

Jane heard the challenge in the good doctor's words and felt the need to push back. Again, turning his attention away from him, he leaned down and gently kissed Grace on the cheek. "I'll get you out of here. I promise." he whispered softly in her ear. He then got up and stood eye to eye with the doctor. "We'll see about that." He walked passed the doctor and stopped at the door, turning back. "Those," he pointed to her restraints, "had better be off of her when I get back." He cast one last glance at Grace who had turned her head away from him and was now focused on a spot on the wall opposite him.

Knowing what he had to do, he left to go home and change clothes. There was someone he had to see.

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"Agent Lisbon?"

She had never met the man behind that deep, booming voice personally, but she recognized it all too well. Frank Copola was as well known as they came in the attorney business. His physical appearance (six foot two, dark brown eyes, chiseled features) were just the beginning. He was also a tight ass, no nonsense prosecutor, who had been working with the DA's office about the same time Lisbon was kissing her first boy. Six months prior to Jason's death, he had been named head honcho.

He was also Jason Copola's father.

"Yes." she turned to him and extended her hand.

They were both inside Jason Copola's home. Lisbon damp from being out in the rain, and Copola closing his umbrella. "Agent," he said, never shaking her hand. "I have heard from sources that you have been suspended."

"Yes sir... starting at 8 am today."

"Ah...." he checked his watch, and studied the room, not really acting like a father whose son lay dead the next room over. Maybe he was just emotionally unattached, she guessed. "It's nearing 8 now. Maybe it's time for you to go home."

"No offense, but I'll go home when my boss tells me."

"Suit yourself." He almost grinned. He looked around the living room some more. Even though Jason was his son, he'd never been able to make it to his house. He was always too busy.

"Your son is in the back room if--"

Frank turned to her, dark eyes hard. "What makes you _think _that I want to see my son dead? Murdered the way I've heard he was." His voice echoed through the room making the other officers stop and look up. Cho and Rigsby heard him from the bedroom, looked at each other, and kept on working.

Lisbon opened her mouth to speak, but he held his hand up to stop her. "I don't want to hear your excuses, Agent. I want to speak to him... where is he?"

"Who?"

"Patrick Jane. That's who, you idiot. I want to talk to the man who killed my son."

"Patrick Jane has left."

"You let him go.."

"There was no reason to keep him. He gave his statement saying that Jason was already dead when he got here and that Red John had committed the crime."

The District Attorney's face contorted into a sly grimace. "Isn't that convenient?"

Frank leaned dangerously close to Lisbon, but not close enough to break any kind of law. He was the DA after all. He could threaten with the best of them, but do it with a smile on his face. "I know your team has a 'relationship' with the charlatan, and frankly I don't care. But you mark my words. I will make damn sure that man pays for what happened to my son. Now," he showed her his watched. It read 8:01. "It's time for you to leave."

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Sam Dixon sat in his holding cell, rocking back and forth rhythmically. It had been a long day. One he wasn't proud of. And it would be even longer later that morning when he made bond and went home. He would have a lot of explaining to do to his wife... but then again, she had a lot of it to do to him as well.

The blond man laid down on his mattress. He couldn't believe how his life had turned so completely upside down.

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After Jane had left, Grace felt intensely alone. She was so embarrassed about all of it. About freaking out. About being placed in the psych ward. She didn't want her parents to know and she didn't want Cho or definitely Rigsby or Lisbon to know. It could mean her job if she wasn't careful. She had to appear to be getting better whether she was or not.

The door opened and in walked the dark headed nurse she had slapped at earlier that morning. It was strange because Grace thought she remembered the woman telling her that she had to go home and confront her husband about something. There were no clocks in her room, but Grace knew that it must be past her time to leave.

The nurse still wore her white scrubs and "Misty Dixon" name tag. She walked up to Grace and clutched her hand like they were old friends. "Feeling better?"

"Yeah, I guess." Grace stammered, realizing that she was tied to the bed and that she couldn't defend herself if the nurse decided to attack her. Then inwardly admonishing herself for being so paranoid. The nurse wasn't there to hurt her.

As if reading her mind, Misty said, "Don't worry, I'm not here to hurt you. Just give you this." She held out a syringe and tapped it. "Doctor's orders."

Grace's eyes widened with fright. What was it about people coming after her with needles? "No. Don't."

She closed her eyes tightly as she heard the woman approach.

One second.

Two seconds.

Three seconds.

Nothing. No pain. No shot. No little angels singing Hallelujah.

Grace bravely opened her eyes, first one then the other, and saw nothing. No one. No Misty Dixon. No needle. No syringe. No one standing over her. And no door to her room opened. It was as if she'd imagined it all.

"Oh God." she said to herself. Fearing the worst. Fearing that she really had snapped.

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	14. The Interrogation

Chapter 14: The Interrogation

The last clock that Agent Kimball Cho passed read 9:37 am. To say that he wasn't a very happy man would have been an understatement. Running on less than an hour of sleep in the past 48 hours, Cho had recently been promoted head of his particular CBI team while Lisbon was serving a two day suspension. He scoffed at the thought because the 'team' was no more than he and Rigsby. Grace was in the hospital recovering from her wounds inflicted by Red John. No one was allowed to see her and he didn't know why. Jane was AWOL as usual. He was supposed to have been at the state building at nine to give his statement about the Jason Copola death but hadn't showed. Cho had been directly reminded of that fact by DA Frank Copola who had also let Cho in on some things he wished he hadn't.

So being in a foul disposition, Cho couldn't help but take out some of his built up agitation out on the only person he could. "Rigsby, I need to talk to you." he whispered with authority in his partner's ear as he passed. Cho didn't stop to see if he was coming, knowing that he would. He walked into an interrogation room followed shortly by Rigsby. "What?" he asked quizzically with a hint of underlying paranoia.

Cho couldn't sit. He was too upset to be still. Instead his hands fixed themselves on his hips and he paced around the room. "You know damn well what." Rigsby started to speak, but Cho raised his hand to cut him off. "I just had a very long conversation with the DA. Would you have any idea why?"

Rigsby's chest tightened, but he tried to hide it. There was no way they would look to see the phone records. No way. He shook his head no to answer Cho's question.

"I told the local PD that I told you to call 9-1-1 at 6:37. I told them that I knew that because there was a clock beside Copola's bedside and I checked to see how long it took for help to get there."

"And?" Rigsby asked, trying to remain calm.

"And." Frustrated, Cho slammed down the folder he was holding down on the table. "_And_. The DA got an order to check your phone records. You didn't call until five minutes after I told you. Until five minutes after you pretended too."

Rigsby felt like his legs were covering in cement and he sank into a chair. "Cho, listen--"

"No, you listen." Cho said with heat. He had to calm himself. He couldn't act like he was feeling. It wasn't professional. But at that moment he wanted to screw professionalism. Rigsby had betrayed him. He'd defied a request and he had let a man die. He wanted so badly to think of the man across from him as the same cut-up as always, but he couldn't. Not any more.

"Why did you have to be so damn specific?" Rigsby's aggitation was coming from his own guilt and the fear of being caught.

"He asked." Cho answered, jaw clinched and eyes wide.

"You were answering yes or no. I was pulling rank. What happened?"

"What happened was that you left the room. The local PD asked me if I knew what time you called 9-1-1. I said yes and told him the time on the clock. I didn't think I had to lie for you. I didn't think you'd be that stupid."

"I'm stupid?" Rigsby shot back, raising from his chair so abruptly that it fell backwards in a crash. Neither man flinched. It was beginning to feel like he was the one being interrogated. As if _he _was a common criminal. He wasn't and he didn't appreciate being treated like one. He hadn't done anything wrong... he hadn't. "I'm not the one who killed three women and antagonized a crazy serial killer in the process. I'm not the one who--"

"No, you are the one who decided to play God and decide if a man deserved to live or die. You are the one who turned into Jason Copola's judge and jury. You are the one who don't even have any true facts to support the claim that he _did_ kill those women."

"Jane! Jane said--" once the words were out of his mouth, he heard how ridiculous they sounded. Cho noticed the change in his demeanor immediately.

"Jane, what? Jane had a hunch? A theory? And Jane has never been wrong, right?"

"The DVD.." Rigsby stammered after a second. "The DVD had his confession."

"Stop it, Rigsby. You didn't see the confession until after Copola died. The DA is going to say that Jason only admitted the murders under duress. Trying to save his own hide by lying for Red John-- or Jane."

"Jane?"

"Whose prints do you think are all over the house? I've already had a very long and very detailed discussion with the DA this morning. Frank Copola is not a happy man, as to be expected. Look," Cho sat down deflated in his chair. Not having the energy to continue his angry tirade, he leaned over the table and motioned for Rigsby to do the same. The agent hesitated then complied. He sat down and leaned back in his chair, crossing his arms, an outward sign that inwardly he was trying to keep himself together. At the time, he had known he'd done the right thing. Now, things were making him doubt. "Frank Copola only had two children." Cho went on. "Abigail and Jason. Abigail died ten years ago from a drug overdose."

"Let me guess. Jason had bought her the drugs."

"Exactly. Frank disowned Jason when he found out, causing Jason's life to pretty much spiral. One day five years ago, Jason went to Jane's psychic show. You saw the tape. Jane told him that his sister's death wasn't his fault."

"Jason believed him, made something of his life, then when he found out Jane was a fake--"

"He lost it." Cho said.

"Makes sense."

"In a strange sort of way, yeah."

"So, where does Jane fit in? I mean--"

"Frank is going to say that Jane is the one who killed Jason. He's going to say that there was a confrontation and Jane snapped. He was in a mental hospital after his family was murdered, did you know that?"

Rigsby shook his head. "No."

"Me either. I have a bad feeling that Copola's going to say that either Jane set it up to look like a Red John killing or that Jane has been the real Red John all a long."

Rigsby sat back and scoffed. "That's ridiculous."

"Is it? Look at what you did. No one ever thought you'd let a man die, and yet you did."

Rigsby uncomfortably wiggled in his chair. He wondered what Cho would do with the information he had. He wanted to trust his 'friend' but he wasn't entirely sure. Lisbon was on suspension. Jane was gone and possibly crazy. Grace was in the hospital and no one would let him see her. It was like the entire world had spiraled out of control.

"They'll never let DA Copola have this case. He's too close to it. Where are you going?" he asked, watching as Cho headed for the door.

"Where do you think? I'm off to find Jane."

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_Jane Residence, 10:51 am_

Once he was satisfied that the tea was just right, he made a second cup, picked up his tray, and headed into the living room. He sat the tray down on the coffee table in the center of the room. It wasn't immaculately decorated. In fact, it wasn't decorated at all. His wife had been the decorator. He had been the one that made the money for her to use to decorate. That wasn't true, he told himself. She had made plenty of money before they met.. enough to get by on anyway. Once they had gotten together, he had used his 'charms' to convince her to stay home. In his mind, it would have been an embarrassment for his wife to have to work like he couldn't provide for her. He also thought that with his line of work it was safer that way. He had been wrong.

He picked up the first tea cup and sat it in front of him. The second he sat in front of his female companion. "Drink up before it gets cold. Nothing worse than cold tea."

She took it, but laughed. "You know in the South people drink their tea with ice in it. They like it cold."

He shrugged. "I know, but only because they haven't been enlightened to the ways of hot tea."

"And you are going to lead the charge?"

"Just call me Custer."

She smiled brightly and laughed, taking a sip of her tea. He was right. It was good. She felt it slide down her throat and warm her chest all the way to her stomach. She had to admit, it felt good having something other than hospital food there. "I still don't understand all of this, exactly."

He took a sip of his own, studying her. She looked ten times better than she had in the hospital. And definitely better than the mental ward. Her cheeks were starting to turn rosy like he knew the tea would do. Her hair had been brushed and fell loosely around her shoulders. Her eyes were wide, but not scared. Amused, maybe? Happy? Probably not happy, but something. She had the light, the fire, back in them that was sorely vacant when she was in tied to the bed. "What don't you understand, Grace?"

She studied her tea like it was the most interesting thing in the world. "Why am I here?"

"Well, that's the age old question, isn't it?" he kidded. With Grace there, he felt he needed to bring some of the old Jane back. Something to make her feel more comfortable even when he knew the old Jane was dead. He'd always been a good actor.

"I'm serious, Jane." she said, but a hint of a smile graced her lips. "Who was that woman who came to see me at the hospital? Why did Dr. Reed just let me go?" The woman she referred to was an older lady with graying hair which had been in a neatly up-swept hairstyle. She had worn a gray business dress and an amazingly warm smile.

It was Jane's turn to ponder his tea. Finally, he decided the best words for the discussion and looked back at her. He froze when he saw her expression. She looked like a lost lamb trying to look brave. Her body looked fragile, but he could see the determination in her eyes. He had to admire her for it. "The woman who came to see you this morning was a friend. Laurie Solt. She works for the Department of Human Services."

Little creases formed on her furrowed forehead. "How are you friends with someone with the DHS?"

"My wife--" Grace noticed how his voice cracked when as he said 'wife'. "My wife worked for Children's Services. She was a child advocate."

Grace's eyes widened in surprise. "I had no idea. Wow, she must have been an amazing woman."

"She was." Jane nodded, looking away and trying to hold back the flashes seizing his mind. Always flashes. He finally won the battle and regained himself after his momentary lapse of composure and continued. "Anyway, she worked with a woman named Laurie Solt. She was the woman you saw earlier. Laurie was a dear friend of hers who took her under her wing and helped her out when she first got started. They remained friends even after my wife quit. I heard a few years ago that Laurie had left Child Services and had taken a position at DHS."

Grace wanted to ask him why his wife quit a job she obviously loved and why he'd never mentioned her work with CPS before, but she didn't. She kept quiet on those thoughts knowing that if he wanted to discuss his wife he would. Instead she asked, "Ok, so why exactly did I need _you_ to be my... guardian." the word just didn't seem right, but that's what Jane was .... for the next thirty days, he was her legal guardian.

"Sounds funny, doesn't it? Me being your guardian. I mean you're what? Twenty-four."

She glared. "Thirty-two."

"I was close." he grinned slyly.

"You were lying."

"Whatever, anyway I had to become your guardian because they wouldn't let you out of the mental ward unless you had someone to take care of you. Your parents are in Iowa and I didn't think you'd want to go back there. At least not now. I guess I could have married you, but that seemed wrong somehow. I called Lauie who came right away. Since I was on the emergency contact list and since you gave your consent, wham bam, I'm your guardian."

"That's it?."

"That's it." No need in her knowing the under the table dealings he had to quickly do to become her guardian. How he'd gotten around the court hearing and the preliminary lawyer stuff. She had enough to worry about to add that on to it.

"Well," she said after sitting her sea green tea cup down. "I'm glad to be out of that hospital so I don't care who my guardian is." She stretched her arms over her head. The sensation of muscles flexing felt amazing at first, and then, "Ouch!" she winced at the sharp pain radiating down her arms and also through her head.

"Take it easy, Grace." Jane said concerned, sitting his tea down, and going over to her. He knelt beside her and placed a friendly hand on her shoulder. "You have lots of injuries still. You're lucky they even let you out at all."

"Yeah, Red John really worked me over last night." she nervously laughed when she said it, but after seeing Jane's expression, she regretted bringing up the R word. It was then she wondered if she should tell Jane the identity of Red John. She'd seen him. She'd seen the bastard in living color... or had she? She was still so confused as to if she'd actually seen him in her room or if it was just a dream... a scary hallucination. To top it off, she was dealing with the whole Nurse Misty Dixon mess who she could have sworn was in her room, but hadn't been. She hadn't told anyone about that. Not her doctor. Not Jane. Nobody. She didn't want anyone to know that she could actually be going crazy. With the disappearing nurse at the forefront of her mind, Grace decided not to tell Jane about who Red John was. Not yet. Not until she was sure that it had really been him in her room and not some random person her insane mind decided to plop in front of her.

She was back to feeling bad for bringing up Red John. "I'm sorry--"

"Don't you dare apologize. Ever. Not for that." his words were more serious and more direct than she had ever heard from him. His eyes bore through hers with deep intensity. She couldn't find any words so she simply nodded. He noticed her reaction and instantly toned it down a notch. He started to say something when his door bell rang. "Saved by the Bell." he said instead, his trademark smile forced back in it's spot. He got up and began walking to the door.

"Jane." she said before he'd gotten to the foyer. He turned to her, hoping she wouldn't say what he knew she was going to. "I don't blame you for any of this you know. Despite what I said a few days ago. You aren't responsible for Faith's death and you aren't responsible for me."

His lips curved upward. "Yes I am." he meant it, for both, but tried to hide it with humor. "I am responsible for you. I am your guardian after all." He turned and answered the door before she could reply.

Once he opened it, he instantly wished he hadn't.

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_A/N: I don't own any of these characters... neither from The Mentalist nor The Guardian (did anyone catch that Laurie Solt is the same woman Nick worked with on the Guardian... you did? Smarty pants.). I do, however, own all mistakes. I'm not proud of them, but they are mine none-the-less. I hope you all stay with me with this story. We are in another exposition era (with some surprises coming up). I like to call this 'Act 2'. OH and this isn't a 'Jace' (Jane/Grace) story, so don't think this entire thing has been cooked up so they will get together. It's not. Just wanted to get that out there so you Jisbon people don't leave me. LOL._

_Also, I have no idea if one needs a 'guardian' to get out of the mental ward. I just thought it would be handy. I took a 'literary license'. Just over look it if it's totally off base LOL. Thanks for reading :)_


	15. The Guilt

Chapter 15: The Guilt

The first thing Teresa Lisbon did once she got home was take off her clothes to soak in a nice hot tub. It had been a brutal forty-eight hours and her bones needed a reprieve. The small stab wound in her back hurt like hell, but she had refused to get it looked at despite what she'd promised Jane. Once she'd taken her clothes off, she doctored it the best she could and tried to forget about the stupid thing. She got into the bubble bath to try to relax. The relaxation didn't last long, however, as guilt from not being able to work on the case began seeping into her thoughts. She thought of Cho having to be the leader in her absence. Cho was well suited for the job, she knew. But she didn't feel it was fair for him to have to take on the responsibility especially during such a hard and hectic case.

Rigsby. The last time she'd seen him was through a window from the front porch of Jason Copola's house. He had been in the guest bedroom, arms folded, leaning back against the wall. His eyes were shut and she could tell that something was bothering him. Eating at him. At the time she assumed it was his worry for Van Pelt, but thinking back on it, she wondered if it had been something more.

Grace. Grace was in the hospital because of Red John. Lisbon knew that she could have taken that bastard if she had allowed herself the opportunity. But she hadn't. She'd done as he said, saving Grace and Jane's life, but making a mess of her own in the process. It was worth it, she reminded herself. Her team was relatively save and all were alive. That was all that mattered.

And then there was Jane. The last time she'd seen him was in the hospital with Grace. He didn't say it, but he didn't have too. He had been mad at her for letting Red John go. And who could blame him? Hindsight being twenty/twenty, she kept replaying the circumstances and events back in her head, trying to find some way she could have done it differently. Jane had taken this the hardest of all of them. Grace hurt. Her sister dead. Red John coming back. He blamed himself for it all. She wanted to tell him that it wasn't his fault. She wanted to tell him a lot of things, but most of the time couldn't find the right words.

Feeling nauseous from the swirling mess of thoughts in her worn out mind, she got up from her cooling bath and tied a large white towel around herself. She stepped into the bedroom, rummaging through her dresser for some underclothes. Once she had what she was looking for, she heard the phone ringing. Laying the clothes on the bed, she walked into the kitchen and picked up. Once she had said hello, there was a click and a dial tone. Aggravated, she walked back into her bedroom. Seeing what she saw, she would have screamed if she had any breath left in her lungs. Instead she grabbed her gun from the nightstand. The window to her room was open, curtains billowing out. And on the dresser mirror was a crudely drawn red smiley face staring back at her. She ran to the window but saw nothing.

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"Agent Cho, what can I do for you this fine day?" Patrick Jane formally greeted his co-worker standing on the other side of the door.

"You could have came by the office like Lisbon told you to and given your statement." Cho replied curtly studying Jane. He wore a gray suit with a white shirt sans vest. He guessed maybe Jane didn't wear it at home. Maybe he liked to relax there. Who didn't?

"It wasn't like I forgot to go. I just had other places to be."

"Uh-huh. Can I come in?" he asked, pushing the door open. Jane held his ground and said, "Lets talk out here." He stepped out and shut the door behind him.

"I'd rather talk inside."

Jane crossed his arms and eyed him curiously. "Am I a suspect in something? I mean, is this an official business trip?"

"You tell me." Cho answered, taking out his note pad.

"Fine." Jane said, turning and opening the door. He figured if Grace wanted to be seen there, she would be where he left her. If she didn't want to be seen, she wouldn't be. She was a big girl after all. He was only her legal 'guardian'. He gestured for Cho to enter before him and followed him into the living room which could be seen from the front door. Once inside, Jane noticed that not only was Grace gone, but the tea service was also, leaving no evidence that there had ever been another person there. "What do you want to know?" he asked, sitting himself down on his worn leather chair.

Cho took a moment to observe the room. He'd never been inside Jane's home before and it wasn't really what he had expected. It was drab and dreary. Not what he expected from the mostly flamboyant Patrick Jane. Of course, when a murder had happened in a house, it tended to lose part of its soul. He knew all too well what that was like. "I just need to get your statement about the sequence of events last night."

"Starting when?"

"Starting from the beginning."

"Oh, that's a long story." Jane sighed and stretched his arms over his head lazily. Cho wasn't the only one who hadn't slept. Jane, however, was more used to it.

"Then start after we arrested Sam Dixon at the stakeout at the fake Sarah Manning's house. After you received the text from Red John." Cho was speaking very professionally. He opened back his black notebook and got ready to take notes. He also reached into his pocket and produced a mini recorder to record their conversation.

Jane studied him for a moment before answering. He had to decide how he wanted to answer... what the best way would be. So much had happened in the last night. So much, in fact, that he bet an author would have to take six or seven chapters to write every detail. He decided to give the condensed version. It would be much cleaner. Much more aerodynamic. "I left and went to Grace's sister's house. I figured out from the text that that was where he had her. Lisbon came with me. I entered the house first. Saw Grace handcuffed to the banister and attempted to doctor her slashed wrists. Oh, and I called 9-1-1."

"Glad somebody did." Cho said under his breath without meaning to. He was still so ticked at Rigsby for failing to do that one thing when it mattered for Jason Copola.

"Excuse me?" Jane asked, realizing there was more to the story than even he knew. He was intrigued.

"Nothing. So you called for help then what happened."

"I couldn't find Grace's keys to her handcuffs. A few minutes later, Lisbon came in and had them. She'd gotten them from Red John." Cho noticed how Jane flinched saying that name, but didn't stop him. "The ambulance came and took Grace to the hospital. I rode with her while Lisbon manned the scene." _And was alone while her life flew apart. _he thought sadly.

"Ok, so Grace gets to the hospital. We all go and see her. What made you go after Jason Copola?"

"Who says I did?"

"Just answer the question, please." Cho said. He had no intention of telling Jane the D.A.'s theory until the interrogation was over.

Jane sighed and wiped away sleep and tiredness from his eyes. "Fine. Lisbon was hurt. Red John hurt her. Did you know that? He stabbed her in the back, but she wouldn't get treated. Said that it was just a scratch." He paused. "It wasn't just a scratch. Did I get mad? Yes. Did I fly off the handle? Probably. I went to Jason Copola's house because that's where I knew Red John would be."

"How did you know that?"

"I'm psychic." Jane said sarcastically. "How do you think? Look, I heard that Sarah Manning.. the real Sarah Manning had died.. suicide... a few hours before. It didn't take a genius to put two and two together. Red John doesn't like copycats. He told Lisbon that very thing. He said to tell me Hi and tell Jason Copola that he didn't like being toyed with. So, I knew he was going to Jason's house. It was one of his riddles. I went there. Found the DVD. Then found Jason."

"And you thought he was already dead?"

"Yes." Jane lied. Unlike Rigsby, however, Jane was a much better at it.

"Then what happened?"

"You found me walking down the road. You and Rigsby, I'm assuming, went to check on him. Found him alive. Called for help. That was it."

"Why did you leave?"

"I got a phone call and I needed to take care of some business."

"What kind of business?"

"That's none of yours. Are we finished here?" Jane wasn't liking being interrogated. He knew how his 'subjects' felt when he was working them over and truth be told, it wasn't a great feeling.

"Almost. Are you sure you are being completely truthful?"

"Yes." Jane answered, looking Cho directly in the eye, lying through his teeth. There was no need in Cho knowing that he'd left Copola to die... and there was no need in him knowing about the gun he'd brought. The one Rigsby had taken for him. That would only get Rigsby in trouble, and he didn't want that to happen.

"Fine." Cho leaned over and turned off the recorder. He placed it in his jacket pocket along with the notebook. "Now. Off the record. Tell me what really happened."

"I told you."

"You lied."

"I didn't."

"You left out part of the truth. Same thing."

Jane crossed his arms and settled back against the cool brown leather, saying nothing. Cho, never moving his eyes, did the same. It was a stand-off of wills before Cho finally said, "Ok, fine. I'll leave. But you'd better not be hiding anything, man. The DA is out for blood and would prefer it was yours."

"Thank for the warning." Jane grinned from his position before standing and showing Cho the door. He knew the DA hated him. That wasn't new news. "Thanks for stopping by. I've had a lovely time."

Cho raised a brow, but said nothing before leaving. Jane shut the door and counted to ten before calling out to Grace that the coast was clear. She stepped out of hiding place which had been crouched down in the kitchen behind the partition wall. She had felt so stupid hiding from Cho like that, her friend Cho. But still. He'd ask questions. He'd ask where she'd been, and she wasn't ready for that yet.

When her blond companion saw how pale she'd gotten and the blue and black circles that had formed under her exhausted eyes, he said, "You need to rest. Come on. There is a spare room on this floor." She began walking slowly to him, as fast as her tired, beaten body would allow. Feeling sorry for her, he quickly went to her and scooped her up in his arms. "What are you doing?" she protested. It wasn't like Jane to do something like that. To be so gentle as to not hurt her body any more than it had been. Or maybe it was. She didn't know him after all... nobody really did. He didn't answer her question, just smiled like normal and carried her to the waiting bed.

Once in there, he gently laid her down. He fluffed her pillows and asked if she wanted under the light purple comforter. "No thanks." she answered, trying not to blush. She didn't know why it was making her embarrassed. Maybe secretly she'd always thought of Jane as handsome, not marriage material handsome, but no woman could deny his charms. She knew he wouldn't try anything with her. He was much too gentlemanly for that, that and he still mourned his wife.

Feeling the unneeded tension, Jane started to excuse himself then noticed she still wore the same pink button up pajamas she'd worn in the hospital. "Would you like to change out of those?" he asked.

"I don't have anything else to wear." she said, stating the obvious.

He laughed. "You can borrow one of my white undershirts. As for pants.." he went to the cherry dresser on the opposite side of the room, dug through one of the drawers, and came out with a pair of black work out pants. "Here. These should fit." He tossed them to her and went on to find her a white shirt of his in another drawer. Grace looked at the pants and knew instantly that they had to have been his wife's. The thought of wearing his dead wife's clothing nearly broke her heart. She didn't want to be rude, but she didn't want to do any inappropriate either. "Don't worry about it." Jane said without looking, as if reading her mind. "She won't mind." Finally, producing a white tank, he handed it to her and said, "Well, I'll leave you to rest. Yell if you need anything."

"I will." she promised and began unbuttoning her pajama top once he turned to exit the room. He turned back to ask her something else and was met with a deer in the headlight look. "Oh, sorry. Sorry." he said covering his eyes. Grace was just on the second button, but it had still brought color to her cheeks. He also saw something else. Pain. "Are your wrists hurting? I'm sorry, I didn't think of that before. Let me help you."

"Oh.. uh.. no I can--"

"Grace." he stopped her on-coming tirade. "We are both adults. I promise I won't think of you any differently, ok? Just let me help you. I at least owe you that much." She realized why he was doing this for her. It was guilt. Guilt for Faith. Guilt for her. Guilt for what Red John had done. She started to protest again when he reached out and gently placed two fingers on her lips. "No more protesting and no more apologizing."

"I could say the same to you."

"Touché." he smiled. "Now, let me help you." She removed her hands from her shirt, but found it difficult to relax. There was no way she could look him in the eyes. Jane ran his hands through her soft red hair to move it from her shoulders. He started on the button that she missed. Once it was undone, he went to the second and so on. Grace felt that he lingered to long on them, but didn't say anything. Once the buttons were undone, he gently glided the shirt off of her shoulders and laid it on the floor. Grace felt totally exposed in only her white lace bra and dark pink pj bottoms. Without saying a word, Jane picked up his white undershirt and slipped it over her head then helping her with her arms. Once the job was done, he looked at her pants and a wicked little grin crossed his lips. "No." she said, even with a smile she couldn't stop forming on hers. "I can handle that myself."

"Suit yourself." the wicked grin never leaving his lips. "I'll leave you alone now. Get some rest."

"Yes sir." she agreed, getting up to change pants.

"Door open or closed?"

"Open. Please." he nodded and walked away. "Hey Jane." she called. "Thanks."

He turned back and nodded before disappearing from her view. She pulled her pajama bottoms down and eased the black ones up. She settled back on the bed, this time under the covers, and tried to relax. It was easier said that done. She was conflicted about telling Jane about who she thought Red John was. She couldn't be sure that it was really him... that her mind hadn't been playing tricks on her like it had with thinking that nurse in her room. She was legally pretty much crazy after all. But, he'd been so nice to her and she felt guilty for not telling him.

She would when she woke up, she decided. But at that moment, her body succumbed to exhaustion and she drifted off to never-never land.

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_A/N: All mistakes are mine... all characters aren't. I thought we needed a nice not so angsty chapter..... well, as non-dark as I apparently can go with this story LOL. I hope you liked it......._


	16. The Man Called Red John

Chapter 16: The Man Called Red John

It was mid day when Officer Sam Dixon finally opened the door to his middle class apartment. He hoped he'd stayed out long enough that his wife, Misty, was sleeping when he got home so she wouldn't berate him about being arrested the night before. She was so annoying. He'd had his reasons for doing what he did. For being at that house. Misty had been first on the list... she just didn't know it yet. She'd find out very soon.

His hopes of entering unnoticed dashed when he entered the kitchen area and saw Misty sitting at the small, light green, 60s style dinning table. The table only had two chairs which were enough considering the square footage of the tiny kitchen. His wife sat next to the window which was open, allowing the smoke from her cigarette to float out of it. She no longer wore her nurse whites, but instead a black t-shirt and gray sweat pants. Her shoulder length raven hair was pulled into a center ponytail with little tendrils falling around her slightly full face. The contrast between her black hair and her porcelain white skin made her light green eyes jump. Sam had always thought that she was a pretty woman. He'd married her merely six weeks after they had met, and that had only been less than a year ago. "Sam." she greeted, not looking at him.

"Misty." he answered, heading for the cabinet next to the refrigerator to rummage for some Tylenol. His head wasn't hurting yet, but he knew it would be soon.

Silence filled the room as Sam finally located his Tylenol, and Misty finished the last drag of her cigarette. She killed the butt in a make-shift ashtray. "Have a fun time in jail last night?"

He shrugged, ticked that she had the high road in this conversation. Like she was a perfect angel. "It was quiet nice actually." it surprised even him how calm he was considering what he was about to do.

"Really."

"Really."

She huffed agitated and crossed her arms. It was time to have it out. "Why in the name of all that's good and holy did you try to set Jason up for those murders?"

His eyes turned to her, this time hard and angry, "You tell me. You tell me!" He'd held it in long enough. He walked to her and slammed both hands on the small table in front of her. "You tell me, Misty. Why in the world would I hate Jason? Huh? Why would I hate him? Why would I want to set him up to go to prison? Answer me, whore. Why?" he slammed his hands down again. "Why?!" Misty didn't flinch from the sound. She was used to Sam and his tantrums. Sam and his violence. What she wasn't used to, what did make her flinch, was seeing Sam with finger tips covered with red blood.

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Teresa Lisbon wasn't entirely sure why she went there. In fact, it was probably the last place she should have went. After she had found the Red John face smiling evilly from her bedroom mirror, she should have called the police. She should have filed a report. She should have policemen all over the area searching for the dangerous lunatic. But she had done none of that. Instead, she threw on her underclothes, ran to her closet, retrieved the first thing she could find, and left with gun in hand, leaving her cellphone on her kitchen island. And had ended up here.

She stood on his porch feeling both silly and relieved. Silly because she was a grown woman. She shouldn't have to run to some man's house for comfort. And relieved because that's what she felt, comforted.

Her finger hesitated on the doorbell before she finally sucked in her pride and rang it. She waited a moment or two. When there was no answer, she rang again. This time she didn't have to wait long before the door opened. "Lisbon?"

"Hey, yeah. Jane. Can I come in?"

"Of course." he said, moving to allow her inside. His face, however, kept the same bewildered look as he had when he first saw her from the window approaching his door. "Don't mind me asking because of course you are welcome here, but why are you here?"

She walked into the foyer and looked up the steps. Those steps were the ones she assumed led to the room his family had been butchered in. The room that held it's own demonic smiley face. She could semi-relate to that now. Semi, but not fully. Jane noticed her focus and gently spun her to him. No one should see or think about what laid upstairs. "Lisbon." he said gently, his rushing heartbeat didn't match his tone. "What's wrong? Did something happen?"

"No." she lied. "Nothing. I just came to--" she had to stop. She had no idea why she'd come, or at least what she would tell him. She couldn't tell him the truth, could she?

"Don't lie to me. Tell me the truth, Teresa."

She sighed, and laughed just a little. How did he do that was what she was thinking? She opened her mouth to begin the explanation when she saw movement in the bedroom next to the stairs. "You have company." at least it was something different to talk about.

"Yeah." he ran his fingers through his blond curls unsure what to say. On one had, Lisbon was Grace's friend. She would want to know how she was doing. On the other, Lisbon was her boss, and Grace had been very adamant that she didn't want anyone to know about her short stay in the mental ward, nor the fact that he was now her legal guardian. "That's--uh."

"Ok. It's ok. I shouldn't have came by. I shouldn't have assumed that you were alone." she started backing toward the door.

"Lisbon. Teresa. No, it's not--"

Lisbon kept backing and talking herself into a hole, but stopped once she saw that the unidentified woman had red hair. She squinted and looked harder at Jane's 'companion'. "Is that Van Pelt?" she whispered surprised.

He nodded sheepishly, grabbed her arm, and led her into the living room.

"Why is Van Pelt in your bed?"

Hearing the way she said those words made him grin slyly. "Why do you think she's there?" His voice poured playful innuendo. He couldn't help himself. She'd set him up for that one.

Lisbon slapped him on the arm harder than she meant. "That's not funny, Jane. What's Grace doing here? She should be in the hospital."

His expression noticeably changed. "Yes, she should. She should be in the hospital, but she's not. She's here with me. It's a long story and one that's not mine to tell."

Lisbon's eyes widened as the metaphorical light bulb flashed over her head. "You sneaked her out."

"No--"

"Yes you did." she pointed her finger at him "You sneaked her out. What in the world would possess you--"

He raised his hands defensively. "Stop it, woman. I did not sneak her out."

She eyeballed him for a minute, then decided he was telling the truth. "Then why is she here?"

"Like I said before, it's not my story to tell. If Grace wants you to know, then Grace will tell you."

"I don't like this."

"I know. I'm sorry."

"It's ok, Jane." Jane looked up and Lisbon turned to the voice in the foyer. "It's ok if Lisbon knows. Everyone will eventually." Jane noticed that the nap had done the young lady good. Her eyes were still had blue circles underneath them, but weren't as sunken as before. She had a little color to her, but not much. If ten was perfect health and one was dead, Jane would have given her a four.... maybe.

"Are you ok?" Lisbon asked seeing Grace for the first time. Her taunt appearance was shocking.

"I'm fine. Ok, not fine." she laughed softly. "But I'm here. I'm out. Thanks to Jane, I'm out."

"Out of where? The hospital?"

"Sit down." Grace told her boss. "I'll tell you everything."

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"Damn it!' Cho frustratedly threw the unhelpful folder across his desk. It landed crumpled on the chair on the other side. Thankfully, nothing fell out. Nothing about that folder had done him any good anyway. Nothing new was making itself known to him. He _knew _that the deaths of Faith Kingston, Caitlyn Robb, and Sarah Manning (Rose Anderson) had been made to look like suicides. They had been murdered and Jason Copola had confessed to the crimes. However, the confession had been ruled inadmissible by the Jason's father, the D.A., on the grounds that it was made under duress. The case was becoming a whirlwind. Not much of it made sense especially not that the D.A. was still on top of things when it was his own son who had died.

Cho had to do something to keep his weary mind working so he wrote down what he _did _know. The three women had all been present at Jane's first tv taping. Faith and Caitlyn had dead family members and Sarah was a plant hired by Jane. The three women had been murdered. The murderer had tried to frame serial killer Red John who had ties to Jane. Red John had apparently gotten mad, decided on revenge, and took it out on Jane by torturing Grace and taunting Lisbon. Red John had also apparently killed Jason Copola.

So many _apparently's_. So many things that didn't completely add up yet.

"They found something." Rigsby announced breathless, running in and throwing a different folder on Cho's desk. Cho opened it and asked, "What am I looking for?"

"At the cop's house, Jason. They found a hair. They actually found a freakin' hair from Red John."

"Are they sure it's Red John? I mean, it could have been anyone. Me, you, Jane. The D.A. will want it to be Jane."

"Doesn't matter what the D.A. wants. The boys tested it. We have a name. Red John finally has a damn name." Rigsby's finger pointed to the name at the top of the paper.

"Who?" Cho asked with brows furrowed at first glance of the moniker, then it hit him. "Oh my God." He gasped, grabbing his phone and calling Lisbon, suspension be damned.

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Lisbon sipped the tea Jane had given her, not really knowing what to say. She wasn't even sure how much Grace knew about Jane's own previous stay in the mental hospital. It was a horrible feeling not knowing what to say, especially to a colleague and most importantly a friend.

"Well?" Grace asked with suspense and a little hopefulness.

"Well what?"

"Well, am I still on your team? Will they kick me out of the CBI?"

"What? No." Lisbon couldn't believe Grace would think that. "Grace, things happen. Things we can't control. Sometimes things are so traumatic that we have to go somewhere where they give us the extra help we need." Instinctively, her eyes went to Jane who met hers momentarily then his cast down. She knew then that he hadn't shared his experience with Grace. At least that information was good to know.

"What was it? What made you," what was the right word, "snap?"

Grace nervously looked down at her tea and feeling sick to her stomach placed it down on the coffee table. She was sitting on the same couch a few feet from Lisbon. Jane was positioned on his worn leather chair, watching her suspiciously. Something about this didn't add up. There was something he wasn't catching. Something she wasn't telling. "I had a nightmare. I guess it was a nightmare. I thought it was so real."

"What was it?" Lisbon prodded.

"I dreamed that Red John was in my room. That he was chocking me. I could feel him. He had his hands around my neck and I could feel his breath." And she could... even as she told it, she could. "But they came in. The nurse, I think her name was Misty. She found me, and called security. They didn't find anyone in my room. The doctor's came in--" in her mind she saw them coming in, holding her down, giving her a shot, but she wouldn't repeat it. "It was bad." she said instead.

"Did you see him?" Jane asked, finally figuring out the missing piece she hadn't told.

"What?" it was the question she'd feared since she had come home with him. Had she seen the face of Red John?

"Red John. Did you see his face?"

"It doesn't matter. It wasn't real anyway."

"It matters to me, Grace." His eyes were steely on hers. She knew what it was like to be on the kidding side of Jane's stares, but this kind, the serious kind, it made her want to slink back and hide.

"Jane--" Lisbon admonished, sliding closer to the injured woman on the couch.

"No, it's ok. Yes, yes I saw his face."

"And?" he prodded, sitting eerily still. "Did you recognize him?"

She had to swallow hard before she answered. "Yes."

"Who was it?" God, he was close. He was so close.

Grace shook her head no. She didn't want to tell him. What if she was wrong? What if she told Jane and he went after him and killed the wrong man? What if-- "Who was it, Grace?" he all but yelled, his patience on the verge of collapse.

It was then that his doorbell rang. Jane made no effort to answer it. "Who?" he asked again.

"Leave her alone." Lisbon ordered now with her arm protectively around Grace.

"It's ok." Grace stuttered. Why couldn't she just give him the damn name?

The doorbell rang again, this time with an accompanying banging on the door.

"Do I know him?" Jane asked, trying desperately to hold it all in. Trying to not think about the red face upstairs, the face made from his family's blood, always taunting him.

"Yes." she said softly, averting his eyes.

More banging. "Damn it." Jane angrily got up and went to the door.

Once he was gone, Lisbon gently asked "Who did you see in your dream?"

Grace swallowed hard. She had to tell. She had to. "Do you remember that tape we watched of Jane? The one from the show Faith was at?"

Lisbon nodded.

"Well--"

Jane pulled the door open sharply while saying that he didn't have time--- and then he saw the face of the man he hadn't seen in over five years. The face of his friend. "Hello, Mr. Jane." he smiled, pulling a gun from the inside of his black jacket. "Mind if I come in."

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_A/N: All mistakes are mine. All characters aren't... well I guess Sam and Misty are. And I guess, well... never mind......_


	17. The Choice

Chapter 17: The Choice

_5 years earlier..._

_"Great show, Mr. Jane." he said as the man of the hour walked by nearly passing him without noticing he was even there._

_Hearing the familiar voice, Patrick Jane turned to his acquaintance exposing a brightly triumphant smile. His companion, who had been with him for only a few months, outstretched his hand with his own joyous expression. His wasn't, however, as bright as the the fake's. and was there for a totally different reason. Patrick shifted his half full glass of champagne into his left hand accepted his employee's handshake firmly. "Thank you, Simon. I thought it went well. Of course, next show, you'll need to work on your lines some more. Oh, and pick out some people who aren't so emotionally distraught." he said, thinking about the woman who had the dead daughter. He couldn't even remember her name. Grace? Faith? Hope? Jean? Oh well.... didn't matter anyway. It's not like he'd see any of them again or have to think about them.... they were a means to an end. _

_"I thought it would make for more compelling television." Simon James defended, taking a sip from his own celebratory glass, thinking about how he only put up with that annoying jackass out of necessity. Besides, he'd had his own motives for picking that particular woman.. her particularly sad story about her daughter's death was quiet an omen. He thought it was fitting and by the end of the night, he just knew Patrick would also._

_"You aren't paid to think, Simon. You are paid to make me look good. Next time, just do your job." He ordered taking his hand out of the actor's. "Be at the studio at 9 a.m. in the morning for rehearsals. We've got to get it absolutely perfect for Saturday's show."_

_"9 a.m. Why so late?" Simon asked, knowing the answer but pretending otherwise._

_"I have an interview on the Today show about Red John." Patrick couldn't stop the smirk crossing his lips. The serial killer Red John had became his bread and butter. Sure being a 'psychic' to the rich and semi-famous was good money, but the national exposure the Red John case had given him couldn't be bought. It was simply too good to be true. And he had Red John to thank for it. He'd give that man a kiss if he ever saw him. In public, he'd condone his horrible actions of course. In private,however, he'd shake his hand and thank him for all of the good press._

_Simon James ran his fingers over his short black hair and scratched his neck. What the hell? He'd give him one more chance. "Are you sure you want to keep taunting Red John that way? I mean, he has killed eight people that the police know about. He's not very stable.--" with that last part he laughed to himself. "I'm not sure it's wise to pursue him like this."_

_Patrick furrowed his brows and looked into his pseudo-friend's eyes. Simon James was almost the exact height as he, probably only 1/4 inch shorter. He had curling jet black hair which he'd shaved short at Patrick's request for the shows. He wore the same black suit, black shirt, and black tie that were his staple on the program. His features were round, not pronouncedly masculine, and isn't that what everyone wanted who was on tv? A 'co-star' who wasn't as attractive so that the audience would focus on the star? "Are you afraid of him?" Jane asked curiously._

_"Me?" Simon laughed, then had to reign himself in. Why would he be scared of Red John? "No, I'm not scared. It's just that you have a wife and daughter to consider."_

_"Tell you what. You let me consider my own wife and daughter and you consider how you are going to do your job better tomorrow. Deal?" There was a new fire in Patrick's eyes that Simon loved seeing. Say what you would about Patrick Jane, the man did love his family. Except in Simon's opinion, he didn't love them enough, but he would. People are often loved more in memories._

_"So, not giving up on Red John?"_

_"No." Patrick said curtly, tiring of this endless conversation. "If you'll excuse me." he left to speak to people at the party who actually mattered. Simon slipped back into a darkened corner and sipped his champagne slowly. He'd given the man his chance and he hadn't taken it. What he did now wasn't his fault. He watched as Patrick schmoozed up to David Lewis, president of ElaCorp, the production company who financed the show and had promised three more if the first one was successful. From there, he watched Patrick glide his way toward Elizabeth Atwood, prominent reporter for the L.A. Times. Simon watched and he drank. He laughed at the man who was trying to make his mark on the world. Simon had already made his in the form of a simple red smiling face. _

_Finally tiring of observing, he threw back the remain contents of his glass and set it down on the table next to him. He checked his watch and saw that it was still early. Patrick would be sucking up into the wee hours of the morning even with an early talk show to do. He knew he wouldn't be home for a very long time. _

_Perfect._

_Simon left the party unnoticed, after all who really paid attention to him anyway, and headed east wondering to himself if the ever so lovely Mrs. Jane had gone to bed yet._

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Jane didn't know if it was the gun or the grin that gave it away first, but at last, after all of those years, something clicked in his head which told him that the man at his door was in fact the allusive Red John. He just wasn't ready to let on yet that he knew yet. "Simon James. As I live and breathe."

"Patrick Jane." the man smiled, holding his gun firmly toward his former boss. "Good to see you again. Such a lovely home, although, I admit, I've only ever seen it in the dark.

Almost losing his composure and not really caring about the gun, Jane wanted to leap at the man who had killed his family and tear him limb from limb. He wouldn't of course, not with the others in the house, but he damn well wanted to. He'd imagined how he'd kill Red John every night for five years. The man in front of him had been shot, stabbed, hanged, burned, skewered, impaled, butchered, tortured, and dismembered every night since the murders, but yet he still stood there. Healthy as a horse. "Get that psychotic look out of your eye, Jane. You don't want to do anything stupid, especially with those lovely ladies in there."

_Take it easy. Calm yourself. _Jane told himself over and over, not wanting to be responsible if one of the women he cared about got hurt. "You're Red John, huh? Funny, I thought you'd be taller."

"Haven't you heard? It doesn't matter how tall you all when you have a gun or are having sex. Your wife sure didn't mind."

Jane already had his fist balled when he heard footsteps approaching from the living room. He started to tell whoever to go back, that he was taking care of it when her heard Lisbon's voice say, "Freeze." He turned his head slightly and saw her standing there with her gun drawn pointing it at Simon who had his nudged into his former boss's stomach. "Drop your gun." she demanded.

He pretended to think it over. "No, I don't think so. You drop yours." To prove his point more, he pushed it so hard into Jane's abdomen that it made him nearly double over.

"Can't do that." Lisbon said, aiming at Red John's temple.

"Oh sure you can. It's easy." He smirked and a shot fired causing Jane to flinch. It took him a minute to realize he wasn't hit. He looked over to Lisbon, scared for what he'd find. She was standing just as he'd seen her last, her shocked expression matching his. It wasn't until he looked passed her and saw Grace slumping over on the couch and felt Simon's gun reposition itself on his stomach that the truth of the situation hit. "Put the gun down, Lisbon." Jane ordered, not wanting to give Simon a reason to shoot again. "Put it down and check on Grace. Please. Teresa." his pleading eyes met hers. "Please." he begged. Lisbon didn't want to, but seeing how important it was to him, she did as he asked. She placed the gun down on the dark hardwood and went back into the living room with Grace.

"Shall we?" Simon's gun pushed harder into Jane's stomach, motioning him to backup.

Jane hesitated. He still wanted to beat the hell out of the man who had not only killed his family, but had shot his friend Grace. His friend who he had promised to protect and guard. "Don't even think about it, _Mister_ Jane. You try anything, and I'll make sure the next shot hits the brunette between the eyes."

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"Grace? Hey Grace, can you hear me?" Lisbon asked softly while bending down to the couch. Grace lay slumped over holding her stomach. Red liquid oozed from the fresh bullet wound painting her fingers a sickly crimson. "Who? What happened? Who shot me?" she asked starting to go into shock. All she knew was that she'd been sitting there on the couch with Lisbon. She'd told her who she thought Red John was. They had heard a commotion. Lisbon had went to check. Grace heard yelling and then pain. Again with the pain. She was so tired of hurting. She just wanted it to stop.

"Good to see you again my dear." came a voice from the foyer. The familiar sound made Grace physically ill. She thought she'd lose it then and there. It was the same vile voice as she'd heard at her sister, Faith's, house and it was the same voice she'd heard at the hospital when everyone had thought she'd gone crazy.

"You're not real. You're not real." she frantically told the 'figment'. She clutched her ears with her bloody hands and tried to ease up from the couch. The pain from the gunshot irradiating through her body. Lisbon gently pushed her down, shushed her, and did everything she could think of to calm her.

Simon grinned, walking into the room with his gun held to Jane's back. "Oh, I'm very real. Very real indeed. Looks like you don't have much time, Ms. Grace. I hope your friends here are really friends. It would be a shame if they let you die. A real shame. You had real potential."

"What do you want?" it was Lisbon who spoke. Her normally composed voice was shaky. She had her hands covering Grace's wound, praying that she could stop the bleeding.

"That's really up to Jane, I suppose. To be certain, it's more than a 10 minute head start." the man in black answered, motioning for Jane to sit down in his leather chair. Simon sat on the end table so that all in the room were in equal proximity to his gun. "I got to thinking after I killed your wife and daughter that I didn't do as I had set out. I rushed things. Made things that should have lingered go quickly. I was fond of your wife. Did you know that? Did you know that I came here two to three times a week while you were 'working'? She'd let me in of course. Fix me something to drink and we'd spend hours talking. She said that you worked long hours and that she was lonely. I filled the void that you left her with."

To that Jane said nothing. For the first time in his life, he was speechless. His body felt cold and he realized that despite his best efforts he was starting to go into some sort of shock. _Calm down!_ he ordered himself again knowing that he could not go catatonic in a situation like this. He had Red John in his living room. Grace was shot and dying. Lisbon was in danger. It was all almost too much. He had to pull it together or he'd lose them all. Red John was not going to win. Not while he was still breathing.

The silent stand off was cut short Grace moaning in pain. Lisbon raised the young woman's white shirt to see how bad the wound actually was. The bullet seemed to have entered a few inches to the right of her belly button. She refused to watch as her friend die. "Let me call 9-1-1." Lisbon begged.

"Let me think. No."

"She's going to die!"

"Lisbon." Jane said calmly from his chair. "Let it go. Please. Simon here doesn't want Grace to die any more than we do."

Simon looked to Jane amused. "Really? Why's that?"

"If you wanted her to die, you would have shot her in the head. As it is, you want her alive so you can play whatever sick little twisted game you have twirling around in your screwed up head. Can we get to it or do we have to sit here and hear you ramble?"

"I'd prefer to ramble if you don't mind. I've wanted to talk to you for years. You know how when something good happens and you just want to tell someone, but you can't? How frustrating it is? that's how I've felt for the past five years. I've wanted so much to look you in the eyes. To tell you about your wife and daughter's final minutes. How your wife kept checking the clock on the wall waiting for you to come home to save her. I've waited years to see what their deaths did to you. If anything.. if you even cared."

"I cared." Jane was struggling to keep his voice as even as Simon's. No matter how hard he tried to stop them, though, tears were beginning to pool beneath his eyelids.

"You cared when you needed to care. You didn't care that night did you? That night at the party, you could have cared less what happened."

Jane's thoughts flash backed five years to the wrap party. It had been the high of his life. He remembered talking to the head of the production company. They had decided to go golfing the next Sunday. He hated golfing, but would do anything for the success of his show. He'd talked to Elizabeth Atwood who was going to write an article about him for the L.A. Times. That story ended up being scraped and replaced by a large full page story about Red John and the murders of his family. He had to really concentrate to remember a conversation with Simon. Simon who he'd hired three months before the show. Simon who had seemed so perfect for the job, probably too perfect in hindsight. Simon who he now remembered had loved briefing him on the Red John police stories so he'd be ready for the talk shows. Simon who was the only person who had even been considered any type of friend from the show.

"You warned me." Jane said suddenly remembering the conversation. "That night. You warned me."

"I gave you a choice. You chose to stay at the party."

"And if I'd gone home?" it was a question that had plagued him since he'd found the bodies.

"If you'd gone home, you would be with your wife and daughter. Dead. But still with them. You made your choice that night. You chose money and power." He directed his attention to the two women on the couch. "Time to make another choice. This is the problem that I've had since that night five years ago. This is what I wanted to do. What I had planned. But your wife, she was an amazing woman. She let me do things--" his voice trailed off at the memory. "Lets just say that your wife loved your daughter very much. I granted her request and let the little girl die quickly." A rogue tear escaped down Jane's cheek hearing that. He didn't even try to wipe it away. The sight of it made Simon smile. "Today, I'm going to give you the choice you never had with your family." he went on, pointing the gun first to Lisbon then to Grace who shivered on the couch. "Who do you want to live, Mr. Jane? Which one are you going to save?

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_A/N: If anyone is totally and completely confused, go back and read Chapter 4. Thanks for all of the reviews, and I hope you like this chapter. It was a little hard to write. RJ/Simon turned into James from the Twilight movie for a little bit LOL. I don't own these characters. I just like playing with them. I do own all mistakes. I tried to get rid of them, but they just wouldn't go away. _


	18. The Red River

_A/N: I don't own these characters. Only the mistakes. Thanks so much for the reviews. Lets see if this chapter give you any answers...... Or if you'll want to string me up... either one ;)_

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Chapter 18: The Red River

In his mind he heard the tormentor's threat of "_Who do you want to live, Mr. Jane? Which one are you going to save_?"and yet he couldn't make himself comprehend. The situation was too surreal. Too mind boggling to make sense out of, but there he sat in the middle of it with two women he had grown very close to despite knowing he shouldn't, and the psychotic killer he'd love more than anything to see dead. Of all the things he could have done at that moment: lunge from the chair and attack, plead for his friends' lives, play coy and try to figure a way out of the situation. The one thing he could do was break out in laughter. He didn't know why. But he found himself doubled over in his chair, laughing like a madman. It didn't help that every time he looked at his former friend Simon, he saw Red John. The cool and calculating, dark and evil Red John. He didn't think he'd ever call that man Simon again. Simon was the name of a likable Australian. Red John was the moniker a cold blooded killer. The man sitting across from him pointing a gun at his friends definitely wasn't likable.

He heard the chuckles of his former friend as well. "Well, well, Jane. I have to admit. I never thought you'd be one to snap under pressure."

Jane sat up but the laughter continued. "I haven't snapped, you buffoon."

"If you haven't, you are well on your way."

"Jane." Lisbon's concern was evident in the tone of her whisper. She had enough to worry about with Grace now unconscious beside of her from the gunshot wound added to the torture she'd endured only the day before. With all of that, Lisbon couldn't deal with a crazed Jane. Jane who always had a level head and all the right words. Jane who knew what to do in every situation even if what he 'knew' and what she 'wanted' where two totally different things. She couldn't stand the thought of having to deal with Red John herself. She needed Jane back in reality.

"I'm sorry, sunshine. I think your dear little Jane has gone bye-bye." There was an underlying apprehension to his humor-filled bravado, like he wasn't exactly sure what to think about Jane's newest little trick.

"I haven't gone anywhere." Jane sat up and whipped the wistful tears that had spilled from his laughing fit from his cheeks. "I just think this is the stupidest thing I've ever heard of. And especially from you. I thought Red John was supposed to be smarter than me."

To that, Simon scowled. "I am, Mr. Jane."

Jane took a few seconds to stop himself from laughing completely and even then he had to give way to spurts of giggles. "No. You idiotic toadstool. You're not. Choose? You want me to choose? Between, what? Grace and Lisbon? That is the most absurd thing I've ever heard."

"Really?" Simon said darkly. His mouth however told a different tale as it slipped upward in a cunning grin. "And why is that?"

Jane grinned brightly. _This _he could do. He could taunt Red John with the best of them. While the rest of him felt completely numb from the reality of what was going on (he doubted very much that he could even stand at that point), his mouth and his wits seemed to be in full working order. And really... what else did he need? He shrugged in response to Simon's question. "Because. It doesn't matter who I pick. Everyone one of us in here are dead men, excuse me," he said in Lisbon's direction, "Dead _people._ Do you think that we for a minute believe that you'll let any of us go? We've seen your face, _Simon_. We know who you are. Whomever I choose could potentially ID you to the police. Hell, half of the people in here _are_ the police. So, choose? No. I'm not choosing a damn thing."

The nerve under Simon's dark left eye spasmed and his jaw clinched, but the man known as Red John only smiled at his long time foe. "As you wish." he said, raising the gun toward Lisbon and pulling the trigger.

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Even though Cho had called in the address the department had gotten off of the hair from the Jason Copola crime scene, he and Rigsby were the first to arrive. Cho, being the agent in charge, made the executive decision to enter the residence before backup arrived. He knew it was a risky move but also that Red John was an ghost-like character and giving him even a second of leeway could be deadly.

Cho and he quickly dressed in their bullet proof vests and ran up the front steps into the apartment complex.

The hair at the scene had belonged to a Simon James. His address had came up 236 Pacifica Street. At first, the name had meant nothing to Cho. Then upon further inspection he remembered that the name had belonged to Jane's actor friend on his shows from before his family's murder. He also realized that the address had been the same one he'd logged into the computer the night before. Only that case file had been that of Sam Dixon who had been under arrest for breaking and entering. The same Sam Dixon who's partner, Jason Copola, had been murdered by Red John. All the way to the apartment, Cho kept silent. But inwardly he was twirling all kinds of things in his mind. Why was Red John living with Sam Dixon? Why had he killed Dixon's partner? Did any of it have to do with the suicides or was it two different cases? As they rounded the last flight of stairs and made it to apartment 4B, his mind cleared of all questions. He was thinking only of capturing Red John for good.

The door was ajar slightly which was the first sign that something was terribly wrong. The second sign was the huge red smiley face drawn on the yellow kitchen cabinets directly in eyesight of the door. Under it were the mangled bodies of Sam Dixon and who Cho assumed was his wife.

Hearing sirens of the calvery coming in the background, Cho bent down to check to see if by some miracle Sam had a pulse. Rigsby did the same for the woman. Cho shook his head defeated to Rigsby. "Dead." he said unsurprised.

"Not dead." Rigsby exclaimed, checking her pulse again, eyes wide with adrenaline. "She has a pulse." Without hesitation, Cho called in that an ambulance was needed and relayed that they had a female victim, mid 30s, with at least two stab wounds to the abdomen.

Once that was done, he sank down next to the dead body of Sam Dixon who had been stabbed at least fifteen times in multiple locations. His head had been bashed making one side nearly unrecognizable. The smiley face above the couple taunted him. "Where the hell is he?" Cho lamented to whomever, dead or alive, that would listen.

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"You missed." Lisbon said though ragged breath. The bullet had whizzed by her right ear so closely that she had felt the wind from it. Despite herself, she had closed her eyes waiting for the angels or demons or whatever to come and take her away. It was with great gladness that she opened them and saw she wasn't dead.

"I didn't miss." He pointed to something behind her. The lamp with the vanilla colored shade on the table at the far end of the room had a hole through it's center.

"Have something against the lamp?" Jane asked, his eyes narrowing. The half-crazed, half-jovial mood he'd been in went away at the sound of the gunshot.

"No. Just making a point."

"Well, I do so hope you'd make it soon. I'm getting tired of all of this. You want me choose? I told you I can't. Doesn't matter, you'll kill us all anyway. You were careless and now have witnesses."

Simon smiled almost as if he knew something Jane didn't. "I'm sure it will all work out."

"Jane! She's stopped breathing." Lisbon yelled out of the blue, willing to see Grace's chest rise and fall.

"No--"

"Well, well. Looks like you won't have to choose after all. Damn." Simon smirked. He started to say something else when an unexpected knock on got his attention. His focus went from the little game he was playing to the front door. That momentary lapse in concentration was what Jane had been looking for. He leaped up and across the coffee table taking Red John down to the floor. The gun slipped from his hand and he punched Jane's jaw angrily with a sickening crunch. The world began spinning for him as he heard both Lisbon yelling his name and another knock at his door simultaneously.

Lisbon jumped from her post on the couch and ran for the dislodged gun which lhad landed feet from the leather chair Jane had occupied previously. Red John beat her to it, kicking her in the gut for her troubles. Seeing Lisbon fall down to the floor doubled over in pain was enough to bring clarity back to Jane. With new found determination, he crawled over the Red John and slammed his head into the wooden floor. Red John countered with an elbow to the ear and rolled Jane off of his back with a growl. With gun firmly in place, Red John rolled on top of Jane who was face up on the floor. Seeing the gun pointed at his head, Jane grabbed it and fought for control.

A gunshot rang though the room.

The knocking stopped.

Through tear stung eyes, Jane saw Red John looking down at him with the same shocked expression he had. It was done. Whatever it was, it was done. Neither could feel a thing.


	19. The Bitter End

Chapter 19: The Bitter End

_One week later..._

Patrick Jane stood at her gravestone, flowers in hand. An uncharacteristically cool wind blew through the cemetery causing the leaves on the large trees to move rhythmically and the clouds to scurry across the graying sky. He'd been standing there for what seemed like an eternity, but he knew it couldn't have been more than fifteen minutes. Every time he looked at the name written on the gray granite, his heart ached and he had to fight for the ability to breathe.

He knelled down and placed the mixed array of different shades of purple flowers on the ground next to her tombstone. Purple had always been her favorite color. If he'd allowed himself to cry, he would have then. But he didn't. Crying would get him nowhere. Crying when sad didn't do anything to alleviate the pain, and crying when happy didn't make any kind of sense.

At least he wasn't numb any more.

He gently raised his fingers to touch the letters carved on the rock.

J A N E

"I got him." Patrick told his wife, rubbing the carved letter of her name. "I finally got him. I'm sorry it took so long. Things just... things just didn't turn out the way I thought. But you should know that Red John finally has a name. He finally has a face. And he finally is getting what he deserves. I promise you that."

Patrick turned and leaned back on the marker between the names of his wife and daughter and closed his eyes. He pictured the events that had transpired the week before.

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He remembered the black haired man on top of him, taunting him, toying with him... rubbing it in that he had killed his family, and that he would kill his friends too. He remembered Lisbon saying that Grace wasn't breathing. And he remember Lisbon herself being kicked to the floor in a sickening thud by the same man who dared put a gun to his head.

He could feel the gun in his grasp as he fought him for control of it, and he could still see Simon James' eyes, black and unholy, looking down at him. He could still hear the gunshot ringing through the living room. It had happened so quickly that even his brilliant, quick-witted mind couldn't comprehend what had happened. He didn't know who was shot, and he didn't know who had been at his door. It wasn't until moments later when the door flew open and in ran District Attorney Frank Copola with a uniformed cop by his side that he remembered that there had even been someone knocking. He would learn later that the D.A. had been there to ask him questions about his involvement in his son's death.

Patrick saw the man he could only think of as Red John smile brightly, much to brightly for a dying man, at him. Red crimson began oozing down through the creases of mouth and pool on Jane's white button-up shirt. "See ya later." the serial killer promised before his eyes rolled back in their sockets and his head slumped down, nestling in the crook of Jane's neck.

He remembered being frozen, unable to move the dead weight off of him.

He remembered hearing Lisbon's voice yelling at the DA to call 9-1-1....that there was an officer down, and he remembered the uniformed cop rolling the limp body off of him. With Red John's body no longer on top of his, Jane continued looking at the ceiling at a certain spot that reminded him of a spider. It wasn't a spider, of course, as it didn't move. But he kept looking. Kept waiting for the relief he'd lived for every since his family was murdered to come rolling into him.

It never came.

Then the he recalled that, from the dense fog clouding his fuzzy mind, the officer with the DA saying that he had a pulse. 'He' meaning Red John. Jane used all of his strength to roll over and push the young brown haired officer from Red John's vicinity. He couldn't remember what he'd yelled, but he knew it was along the lines of leaving that bastard alone to die. That he deserved it and the world would be better off without him.

It was the DA who had pulled Jane off of the officer and had forced him to sit in the leather chair parallel to the shooting victim. He told him to sit there and let the EMTs do their work or he'd have the officer arrest him then and there. Jane had just laughed at him, asking if he really thought that would stop him. But it was Lisbon who spoke up and told Jane to just shut up and let the EMTs do their job. To hell with Red John, but Grace needed help now. His quest to make sure Red John was dead would not interfere with help getting to Grace.

By the end of the ordeal, two ambulances had left the home of Patrick Jane. Each carrying one critically injured patient. Neither had much hope of survival.

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Jane rested the back of his head on his family's tombstone and took a deep breath. In the past week, neither Grace nor Simon James had died. Physically, Grace had improved dramatically and would be released within a few days. Emotionally, however, was another story. He was told that when anyone else went to visit her, she'd be brave and strong. Her parents had even flown in from Iowa, another daughter the victim of senseless violence. She was a rock for them. The doctors had even decided that she no longer needed a legal guardian. They expected her to make a full mental recovery.

That was publicly.

But when Jane entered, she broke down in heartbreaking sobs and clung to the only other person she knew who could feel the type of pain she did.

"She's wrong though." he told his wife mixing the spoken with the unspoken. "I can't feel what she's feeling. I don't even know what I'm feeling. I do wish I could do more for her. She deserves so much more good in her life than the hell she's going through."

And then there was Simon James. Simon hadn't regained consciousness since speaking those words to Jane. He was alive, but doctor's didn't know when he'd wake up, and no one was entirely sure why he was still out. It was that fact that kept Jane's life in limbo. Unable to move on. Unable to do what he felt he needed to do once Red John was out of his life forever.

Everything was so screwed up. Grace wasn't handling any of it well, and who could blame her? Lisbon was doing her damnedest to keep things together, but it was like Humpty Dumpty. All the king's horses and all the king's men couldn't put the team back together again. Cho was still harboring anger at Rigsby for not calling in the 9-1-1 for Copola. To that end, Rigsby was in deep trouble with the D.A. for tampering with evidence at the Copola crime scene. And Jane.... Jane just couldn't seem to care about what would happen to him.

He raised up and turned to his wife. He missed the days when he could touch her warm, soft skin not the smooth, cold headstone. "I'm sorry I don't come here more." he said gently. "I'll try to do better. It's just hard. You know. It's just--" he felt his throat close up and decided not to finish that train of thought. "I'm sorry I haven't brought you flowers in years. I know they were your favorite, and you used to say how sad it was to see a tombstone with no flowers. Like no one cared. I'm sorry for not showing you how much I cared-- how much I do care." He kissed his fingers and lightly laid them on the engraving of her name. He did the same to his daughter's beside her mother, whispering "I love you, baby."

Jane stood and wiped the dirt from his light brown pants. He removed his coat from the rock revealing the third name on the stone. _Patrick Jane 1970-. _He casually wondered when he would get to join his family under the dirt.

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Misty Dixon's steps was a little more tender than usual as she made her way through the hospital corridors. The police had called her survival through Red John's attack a 'miracle'. Oh it had been a miracle all right.

The stab wounds hadn't been that deep, not near as deep as her husband's. Easy enough to recover from. In fact, she'd gone back to work only three days after the murder/attempted murder. The grieving widow was the card she had played, and played it well. Funny how her co-workers doddled on her. Asked her if she needed anything now that the jerk was in the ground, but when he had been alive.... when she had came in to work with badly concealed black eyes, no one said anything to help her. Not one.

It was nearing 11 pm when she rounded the corner of the hospital with her medicine tray in hand. Her raven hair was pulled back in a messy ponytail and she was dressed in light pink scrubs. Everyone had said how much they admired her for being back so quickly after Sam's horrific death. Inwardly, she laughed. It would only have been horrific if she had loved him. If she hadn't seen it coming. If she hadn't done the job herself.

Sam Dixon had been a bear of a man in his heyday. He'd beaten her like a rabid dog, many times for nothing more than she'd fixed his coffee wrong. At the department, Dixon had been a celebrated cop, a man who brought pride to the badge. At home, he had been a plague to the human race. Misty had plotted Sam's death for years, starting on their wedding night when he'd knocked out her front tooth on the end table. Rough sex he'd called it. With veneer in place, Misty had taken it upon herself to do what had to be done with that evil man.

She thought it was just luck when a year ago he told her that his new partner was Jason Copola. She recognised Jason from the tape of the psychic show starring Patrick Jane. She had been an avid student of Patrick Jane every since she was twenty and the swami had told her that, among other things, no man would never beat her again like her father had. Oh, how he'd been wrong. She'd listened and married Sam even though her gut was yelling no. In her mind, Patrick Jane had been at least partly to blame for her abuse. When she saw Jason, she decided to kill two birds with one stone.

It had been at Misty's persistence and promises of explicit sexual favors that Jason had agreed to help with the 'suicides'. He'd had his own past with Jane and knew that he was in fact doing the women a favor. Misty didn't care about the women. Just saw them as a means to an end. Misty had been the one to get the drug used to perform the 'suicides' from the hospital drug supply. It had been Misty who had planned and plotted. It had also been Misty that decided to copy Red John so that maybe Patrick Jane would find out, and maybe he would see the hurt his lies had caused.

When the real Red John had found her, it had been an utter and complete surprise. The first time she had saw him, she had just left Jason's. She assumed that the man in black was going to kill her. Instead, he simply asked to help. She obliged and within a day he introduced himself to Sam as a cousin of Misty's and moved in with them, all the while keeping tabs on Jason, Jane, and the 'suicides'.

She had never meant to fall in love with him.

Love and hate came from the same cloth, however, once she learned that Simon had killed Jason. Jason was another man she'd cared deeply for and to hear of his death was torture for her. It took lots of persuading on his part to get her back on his good side. Luckily for Misty, Sam had been in jail most of that night, trying to set up Jason for the killings, unaware that he was the actual 'suicide' killer.

What she didn't know, what she wouldn't find out, was that it had been Sam who had struck a deal with Simon to kill Jason. Sam had suspected for months of an affair between his partner and his bitch of a wife, and once he accidental found out who Simon James was, well, he took full advantage of it. He re-payed the favor by stalking in the senior agent in charge, Teresa Lisbon's, house and taunting her with her own red smiling face as per Red John's request. The face had been made using Sam's own blood.

Smiling faces everywhere.

Now, after all of that, Jason and Sam were dead. Simon was seemingly unconscious, and Misty Dixon was hopelessly and completely in love. She had to laugh at herself. Maybe the second part Patrick Jane's 'psychic' prediction six years ago _had_ been true, _"Misty, you always fall for the wrong kind of man."_

"Hey Carl." she greeted the guard at the patient's door. Sweetness and innocents oozed from her posture and mannerisms.

"Hey Misty. How are you tonight?" he asked with genuine concern. Carl wasn't new to the force by any means, but Misty had found out that he had a soft spot for her. She figured it was the sad way she carried herself.

"Can I see him?"

"Now, Misty. You know you can't." He'd already broken the rules for her once. He'd promise himself never again.

"Please. Five minutes. I won't hurt him, I promise. I just need closure, Carl. I just need to see that bastard that killed my Sam. Please."

It had been a piece of cake to enter the room with Carl as guard. She quietly crept into the dimly lit room and made her way to the bed. There was Simon, laying as still and as lifeless as a corpse. "You look dead." she lamented quietly.

"Wasn't that the point?" his mouth curled and his eyes flashed opened. "What took you so long? Do you know how hard it is to keep faking a coma?"

"Oh, you'll live." she said playfully, opening her medicine tray and giving him the clothes she'd hidden inside. "Get changed. We don't have a lot of time."

He gingerly did as she asked, stomach throbbing from being shot. He had enough in him to teasingly slap her backside as he got out of bed. Even while shot, that woman could do more for him than any he'd had before... well any living one he'd had before. All except the lovely Mrs. Jane. No one c ould hold a candle to her.

While he was getting changed, Misty opened the window, thankful that they were on the first floor. It was their lucky day. No one had thought to put bars on the room of a comatose man. Where in the world would he go? It was like it was meant to be.

It wasn't until five minutes later when Carl opened the door and saw the bed empty and both people gone that he started to panic. On the wall next to the window, written in broad red ink, were the words, _Better Luck Next Time, Jane. :)_

_The End_

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_A/N: Um, yeah. In the words of kathiann, don't kill me. All characters aren't mine. All mistakes are. I hope I explained this so it made sense. There were always 2 different stories going on (the suicides and then Red John), but they always intertwined also. Thank you SO much for all the reviews for this story. It has been my favorite to write so far.... yes... there will be a sequel. :)_


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